


The Difference in Similarities

by SheyConYamo



Series: From the Ashes [1]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Discrimination, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Major Character Injury, Plot Twists, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Starts happy, isn't that usually how it goes?, then things happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 119,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25759783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheyConYamo/pseuds/SheyConYamo
Summary: With a budding friendship between kingdoms comes a fair few hurdles. Uncomfortable pasts, age old prejudices, and growing pains being a few of them. When a shocking truth is revealed, a choice must be made. And the consequences are lives on the line. Can the kingdoms stand together in this test of trust, or will all they have worked for fall into ruin?
Relationships: Bog King/Marianne (Strange Magic), Dawn/Sunny (Strange Magic)
Series: From the Ashes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868737
Comments: 40
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.   
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.

“WHOA!”

“Haha! Gotta be faster than that Marianne!” Sunny yelled over his shoulder, nudging his dragonfly mount to fly faster.

Marianne’s grin turned into a smirk and she put more strength into her stride, beating the air through her wings with hurried strokes. She followed briskly as Sunny darted through the tall grass stalks and narrowly avoided the dandelion stems. She could hear his exhilarated laughter in front of her and could not help joy bubbling up in her chest, her own laughter slipping out unrestrained. They continued their race for several minutes, Sunny eventually lengthening the distance before making it to the dragonfly pens. Marianne could already hear Dawn’s cheers before cresting the tall grass, smiling as she watched her sister smother Sunny in a spirited hug while he was still atop the feisty dragonfly.

What had started as a visit to the dragonfly stables to see Sunny and his family had turned into raucous banter concerning the dragonfly races starting up in the next two weeks. Sunny played her right into a challenge of speed and they were off. “To be fair,” Marianne quipped, landing heavily as she allowed her wings to drape down her back, “That was my third round and you’ve used a different dragonfly each time.”

“Hey, you said you could keep it up all day!” Sunny countered, hopping off his mount. “I never said a single dragonfly could.”

Giggling and snickers from the rest of the family around them were infectious and Marianne shook her head as she walked to the barn bench and sat, gladly letting her wings rest on either side of herself. “I think we need to go over some stricter guidelines next time,” she huffed with a smile.

“Oooo! I can’t wait!” Dawn chirped. “Oh! Do you think we could get Boggy to do it!”

“HA!” Marianne doubled over, holding her sides as laughter rolled. “Are you kidding me? He’d leave any dragonfly in the dust!”

“Oooh, no!” Sunny whipped around from loosing his mount’s saddle. “No way! He’ll be left in any of our dragonfly’s wakes!”

Marianne leaned back and leveled a smirk. “Oh really. I’d like to see you try,” she challenged.

“You tell him when he gets here that it is ON!” Sunny piped, grinning at Dawn as she clapped excitedly.

Marianne smiled fondly as Dawn proceeded to pick Sunny up in a crushing hug. Though, she could not deny a hint of envy.

It had been nearly a month since she had seen Bog for more than a few brief moments at a time. He had been so busy on his side of the border taking care of the preparations for the upcoming Summer that he could only spare time during his visits to oversee the new trading posts and border constructions. During most of the spring season they had seen plenty of each other while sifting through the ruins of the old castle and rebuilding the new one, which both kingdoms came together to help with.

She smiled fondly, pride and appreciation once again pricking at her insides at seeing fairies, elves, brownies and goblins working together. It was… strange, but in an endearing way, how easily all worked together on those projects and continued to do so for the current ones. It was as if the generations of separation between the kingdoms had only been a dream.

“What are you doing over there looking all starry eyed?” Dawn asked playfully, sitting on the edge of the bench just beyond Marianne’s spread out wing.

Marianne looked at her with a start and let out a laugh. “Oh nothing. Just… thinking about everything,” she answered, a small smile still gracing her face.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to smooch your Boggy Woggy in no time!”

“Dawn!” Marianne flipped her wing up, grazing the back of the giggling girl’s hair. “Not that!”

“Maybe not, but it’s true!” Dawn retorted with a wink.

Her grin betrayed any annoyance she had tried to project, and her flush betrayed any attempt to disagree. “You drive me crazy,” she growled instead, reaching over to ruffle Dawn’s hair.

“Always have, always will!” Dawn chirped.

“When is the ol’ grouch getting here anyway?” Sunny asked, walking up to the two princesses with the saddle slung over his shoulder.

Marianne looked upward, gauging the sun. “A couple hours I think, maybe less,” she said. Her voice was calm, but she could feel the flutter of excitement in her stomach at the prediction.

“Ooo! We need to get you ready!” Dawn bounced up and clapped her hands.

The happy excitement fizzled out in a flash. “Ready?” Marianne whipped her head to her sister in a panic. “What do you mean, ‘ready’?”

“You two haven’t seen each other in a month, Mari,” Dawn commented. “We gotta dress you up for him!”

Marianne was on her feet instantly. “O-ho-no! No we don’t!” she insisted, wings flitting up in a defensive posture as she took a step back.

“Oh yes we do!” Dawn’s smile was too bright as she hopped up, now hovering towards Marianne with childlike glee in her eyes. “Don’t you want to do something special for your Boggy Woggy!”

“Bog,” Marianne corrected automatically as she hopped into the air as well, her previously tired wings now energized with panicked anticipation, “and it- it’s special enough! That we, uh, get to actually spend time together!” She said, cringing herself at the weak comeback.

“Awe, well of course that’s special!” Dawn agreed, flinging her arms out and rolling gently. “But there’s no reason not to make it MORE special!” That look in her sister’s eyes was all-to-familiar.

“Uuuuh, you know, I think I have, um, something I forgot to do- ACK!” Even Marianne was taken aback by Dawn’s swiftness as her younger sister body slammed her in the air.

“Oh no! You aren’t getting away this time,” Dawn shouted playfully. “I’m gonna make SURE you look special when he sees you!”

“It’s not like we haven’t seen each other,” Marianne counters, trying to wiggle from her sister’s hold. “We just haven’t been able to, you know-“

“A few minutes while overlooking construction details don’t count. Now, don’t make me drag you back to the palace!”

“You know she will,” Sunny hollered, absolutely no help at all as he started for the tack room.

“Don’t encourage her!”

**~*~**

The warm air rushing past his ears and thorough the crevices and ridges of his carapace was exhilarating. Especially, after too many days having to remain grounded within the castle walls attending to the new plans and preparations his kingdom was faced with. Bog took a deep breath, barrel rolling without thinking as he closed his eyes and relished the air flowing around him.

The scent of the meadows drifted into his senses and the other reason for his excitement took front stage in his mind. He grinned and his eyes snapped open. He caught sight of the sprawling meadows just beyond the tree line, which he was nearing with great speed.

“Huh…” Bog raised a brow before slowing his wings, the mild ache springing to life at their bases making him realize just how fast he had been going. He slowed even more to a glide and turned to look behind him. His eyes went wide.

He could barely see the entourage on their dragonfly mounts.

“Whoops,” he breathed, deciding to pause entirely, hovering in place. He gripped his staff to him as he waited, looking back to the meadows as a small half-smile graced his features. What could he say? After a month of brief here-and-there encounters he was, admittedly, too eager to spend actual time with Marianne. Even if they only got the one day before politics started.

His smile faded to a slight grimace. Perhaps it was the seclusionary nature of his kind, or perhaps it was the apprehension of dealing with more political leaders, but he was not entirely looking forward to tomorrow’s meeting.

“What’s wrong, BK?”

Bog snapped back to reality and looked to Stuff, herself and the rest of the entourage now catching up to him. “Nothing. Just waiting on you lot, could you fly any slower,” he deflected with a scowl.

Stuff smirked that knowing smirk she always smirked when she knew he was deflecting. “Well, not all of us have a fairy princess to sweep off her feet.”

He felt the flush immediately. “Wha- don’t you start-“

“We’re sure she’s ready to see you to, Sire!” Thang piped up with that toothy grin of his.

He growled, his free hand clutching at the air aimlessly before he hovered up and fell backwards, continuing the flight path to the meadows. “Shut up and keep up!” he hollered.

The snickering from behind him was infectious, though, and he could not help a smirk coloring his own lips.

**~*~**

“Whoa,” Marianne whispered, looking at herself in the mirror.

“I told you!” Dawn cooed.

“Yeah, you sure did,” she said, turning and looking at a different angle.

The dress that Dawn had so cleverly hidden from her knowledge was absolutely gorgeous. But, not too overdone ether. It was comprised of silkworm linen designed to look like oak leaves layered on top of one another and colored a beautiful oak leaf red. The skirt came up in an “A” shape just above her knees in the front and draped down to a sharp “V” halfway passed her calves in the back. It did not poof outward, draping loosely around her but with enough tailoring that it did not completely engulf her form. It came up to a fitted corset with material designed to resemble fresh spring tree bark, hints of green embroidered into the warm brown surface. The collar shaped up her chest and cresting the back of her neck was of the same material as the rest of the dress, with the brim cut just right to look like the ridge of a freshly harvested oak leaf. The finishing touch had been the gold royal emblem emblazoned on the front of the corset with gold accents embroidered into the hems of the collar and layers. “I gotta admit,” she said with a smile. “I actually like it.”

“I knew you would!” Dawn said cheerfully, hugging Marianne tightly. “I’ve been planning with the tailors for a while now and I was a little nervous at first, but-“ She abruptly stopped talking as Marianne put her hand over her mouth.

“I love it!” Marianne reassured, hugging her back.

Dawn squealed in delight. “Yay! You can also move around easy in it too, I made sure of it.”

Marianne backed away and hopped into a hover, moving her legs around and feeling the material lift up and away allowing for a very wide range of movement. “I see that.” She lighted to the ground as Dawn hurried to the vanity. “You really put a lot of thought into this, huh?”

“Well yeah!” Dawn spouted. “You used to love dressing up and I know you don’t care for it anymore, but,” she paused, turning to Marianne with something in her hands, “I want you to… you know, feel pretty again,” she said, her excitement dulling slightly.

Marianne felt her heart tug at the sight and closed the distance, taking Dawn’s wrists in her hands and holding them close. “I do! I do,” she said, trying to be reassuring. “I mean, I never didn’t think I was… I mean, I…” she floundered as she caught Dawn’s big blue eyes looking up at her.

Dawn smiled, a hint of sadness creeping into her expression. “I know a lot of things have changed. And, there were a lot of changes before now. But,” she looked down, worrying the material in her hands, “I guess, what I’m trying to say is… You’ve been through a lot since, you know, what happened with Roland. You’ve always been different, and, while I think it ended up for the better because, you are so much more yourself now, I just… don’t,” she looked back up timidly, “I don’t want you to think you can’t be beautiful and fierce,” she finished with a small smile.

Marianne stared at her sister, her eyes starting to sting. A small smile broke through and she threw her arms around Dawn, holding her tight. Dawn’s arms wrapped around her just as firmly. “Thank you, Dawn,” she whispered.

“I love you, Marianne,” Dawn said softly, snuggling closer.

“I love you, too,” Marianne responded. “Even if you do drive me crazy,” she said with a laugh.

“Because I drive you crazy!” Dawn chided with a giggle, pulling away. She looked at Marianne for a moment before nodding and stepping back to hold out what was in her hands. “Don’t forget the stockings!”

“Oh yeah!” Marianne chuckled as she grabbed the soft material. “I’m not sure how we forgot about that.”

Dawn turned around to the vanity again, digging through the garment box. “Because they’re bottom halfs,” she chirped nonchalantly.

Marianne immediately had to swallow her nerves. She let the material unroll and looked at the beautiful deep red stockings dangling from her hands. She could tell they would come to rest just a handbreadth above her knee. “Oh,” she let out, just low enough not to be heard. It had been a few years at least since she had worn half stockings, and, even then, she preferred the upper halfs. Her breecher-style stockings had been a staple for so long it was like wearing a second skin.

She turned to the mirror, looking at the dress again. With where it fell, no one would really be able to tell they were not full stockings unless they were making a point to watch her walk. _I guess this is fine,_ she thought, looking at her own tight expression in the mirror. _Do it for Dawn,_ she thought suddenly. _Dawn put a lot of work into it and I’m not about to throw this moment away because of something no one else will notice anyway._

“And here’s your shoes,” Dawn suddenly piped, turning to show off the dark, reddish brown slipovers with their gold ribbon leg ties.

Marianne smiled and nodded in approval. “Yeah, they look great!”

“Oh, if you’re worried the stockings will fall, I had them put a loop in the top so you can thread the tie through,” Dawn commented, apparently having noticed the apprehensive air over Marianne’s head. She waved her hand. “Go on, get them on!”

Marianne nodded again and sat on the stool in front of the mirror, starting with her right leg.

She failed to notice the mischievous smirk glimmer across Dawn’s face.

**~*~**

The brightness of the sun was thankfully soaked in by the rock of the Green Meadow kingdom’s royal castle. However, the metal accents and towering spires poking out here and there provided just enough opportunities for a sudden glare to blind even the most experienced flyer.

Bog growled under his breath as he clenched his eyes shut, rubbing the butt of his hand into his right eye which had gotten it worse. How he had managed to land without spraining anything he was still unsure about.

“I’m terribly sorry, Bog,” King Dagda continued, a worried hand on the other king’s shoulder spurs. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do.”

“It’s fine,” Bog snapped. He then groaned. “I mean, no, it’ll be fine. I just need a moment,” he answered in a less aggravated tone.

Dagda chuckled, patting the shoulder under his hand lightly. “Don’t worry, I understand. You aren’t the only one who’s been blinded by the spires before,” he reassured.

“Mmm,” was all Bog could respond with, rubbing his fingers into his eyes. As much as he wanted to lecture the older king about how much more sensitive his eyes were, he figured it would make no difference. And he hardly wanted to create any more grief than what he dreaded they were in store for tomorrow.

“Though, I suppose your eyes are more sensitive, aren’t they?”

He stiffened lightly in surprise, prying his left eye open to look at the fairy king. Dagda had his hand to his chin, looking down to the floor in thought. Emerald green eyes met his gaze and Dagda pointed a finger to him.

“You can see in the dark, can’t you? All goblins can?”

Bog stood up straighter, finally blinking both eyes open, though with a strained squint. “Yes. It’s a trait we all carry.” He looked behind him to see the rest of the entourage, including two clan elders, squinting as well as the fairy guards were helping them with their dragonfly mounts. They were still in the front courtyard under the harsh glare of the afternoon sun.

“Right,” Dagda nodded distractedly. He returned to his musings, tapping his chin. “I wonder if there is a polish of some sort we can apply to the spires to dull them up a bit, so as not to be quite so reflective.”

Bog’s aching eyes went wide as he stared at the other king. For Dagda to consider changing an element of his own royal castle just for the comfort of visiting goblin-folk was rather… unexpected. He shifted his staff to his right hand, suddenly noticing the elder’s hand still on his left shoulder spur. “That’s not necessary, King Dagda, it’s not like we come here every day,” he commented, waving his hand in a placating gesture.

“Oh nonsense,” Dagda responded. “Once a month, once a day, doesn’t matter.” He finally removed his hand to wave it dismissively. “I’ve been thinking about doing something about that dreadful glint anyway.” He smiled and faced Bog directly, holding his arms out. “Aside from that, it’s good to see you in person! How was the rest of the trip over? How have duties been on your side?” he asked amiably, gesturing for Bog to walk with him into the castle.

Bog complied, rubbing his eyes once more as the two walked side-by-side. “It’s good to see you two, King-“

“Dagda,” the older king cut in with a chuckle.

“Dagda,” Bog repeated with a nod. “The trip was fine. The forest has been quiet as of late and the meadow breezes are calm today. As for duties? Well.”

Dagda heaved a sigh and nodded. “Yep. I know the feeling.”

Bog felt a smile tug at his lips. “Same here then?”

Dagda laughed lightly, although the heaviness was easy to see. “It’s been a challenge to say the least. Willingness on our part, I assure you, and for our denizens the eagerness definitely helps. But there are some who are having issues with how to adjust to a system that has no currency.”

“Mmm,” Bog nodded, looking forward as he listened to the end of his staff thudding against the rock floor. “Well, I assure you it’s not just your side feeling the strain. Metal and gems are used for function, or ceremonial purpose,” he glanced to the head of his staff, regarding the large amber stone amidst the bronze nest and wired into the spokes, “not as a substitute for items.”

“I’m at least happy the trading posts are coming along smoothly,” Dagda commented. “There’s been some suggestion that one or more could be used as inns, as well. Rest stops, if you would. I wanted to discuss that with you first, though, before approving any changes,” he said, looking up expectantly.

Bog raised a brow but nodded, considering the idea. “That could work, but maintenance and upkeep will need to be discussed.” He raised a hand to his chin gripping it thoughtfully as he stopped to lean on his staff. “Then foodstock and supplies. And the staff,” he muttered, gears turning in his brain as he considered which gobin-folk specifically would be best suited, both in temperament and size, and which clans might have more than a fair share to say about such a development and responsibility. “Mmmmmm… this will need to be discussed with the chieftains,” he said under his breath.

“Your chieftains need to have a say in everything it seems,” Dagda chided with a smile.

“Everything,” Bog iterated with a nod, eyes still to the ground in thought.

Dagda chuckled and looked up the hall. He promptly dropped into stunned silence. “Marianne!” he managed.

Bog looked to the older king before following his gaze. His eyes went wide as he too was stunned to silence.

Marianne and Dawn were flying towards them, both glowing and happy as could be. Marianne was positively radiant in a dress he had never seen before, a beautiful forest leaf red with perfectly placed gold accents. As she got nearer, he could see so many other little details, but none caught his eye more so than the absolute joy on her face.

The sisters landed in front of the two, still stunned, kings and smiled brightly. “Good day, your majesties,” they said in unison, curtsying in place. The air of playful amusement was thick, however.

Dagda was the first to respond, laughing heartily. “Good day to you too, my beautiful daughters! And how does the day fare so far?” he played along.

“Wonderfully!” Dawn answered, clasping her hands. “And even better now that our guests have arrived!” She looked to Bog with a smirk.

Which he would have noticed had he not been too busy staring at Marianne. He also had not noticed that he had gripped his staff hard with both hands and was looking at Marianne as if regarding a dream.

Marianne met his gaze and smiled with a hint of shyness that was unusual coming from her. “Well, how fare you today, Bog King?” she asked, her voice lowered in octave as she looked at him through her lashes.

He gulped. “Uh… um… I-I mean, fine! Well! Very well! Good! Very good today- very good!” He glanced away, frozen in place, staff held in a death grip.

Barely restrained snickering caught his ears and he whipped around, Stuff and Thang immediately looking in different directions.

“As I was saying,” he managed, turning back and trying to ignore the heat in his face, “It’s, em, been a very-“

“He’s been buzzing all day!” Stuff cut in.

“He’s very excited to see you, Princess Marianne!” Thang spouted.

“AEY!” He barely had time to jolt back around and throw a glare before laughing and giggling filled the hall.

“Betrayed by your own stewards, eh?” Dagda said mirthfully, elbowing in his direction. “I remember those days.”

Dawn jumped up and hovered. “Oh you don’t have to hide it, silly! Marianne’s been the same all day!”

“Dawn!” Marianne spouted, glancing to Bog with color in her cheeks.

He could not help a small half smile at that, seeing it returned on her lips.

“You should have seen him the whole way here,” Stuff threw in.

“He nearly flew his wings off!” Thang chirped.

“STUFF! THANG!”

**~*~**

He squinted lightly, but the light was not nearly as bright in the flower courtyard as it was in the front one. At least the abundance of flowers and sprouts provided ample shade and dulled the light. Bog looked to his right, seeing Marianne smelling one of the tiny orange-yellow buds in the greenery next to them. He felt his lips curling into that small smile again, something he had had to catch himself with several times already.

After the moments of laughter at his flustered expense, the group had continued into the castle, the discussion having turned back to the trade route plans. Dagda agreed to have a proposal written up for him to take back to the elders and clan chieftains as far as the rest stop idea was concerned, and Bog had expressed the need to further flush out conversion standards between the Green Meadow’s currency based system verses the Dark Forest’s trade based system. During the talk between them, however, he had been unable to keep from steeling glances at Marianne, each glimpse catching some new detail or feature about her appearance. And more than once they had caught each other’s eyes as she apparently had been steeling glances of her own. While he had tried to be discreate, he had no doubt Dagda had noticed once the older king suddenly announced he had some other things to attend to and excused himself, saying he would see them later in the day; he had done a poor job of hiding the cheeky smile. Dawn had then mentioned she needed to go find Sunny for something-or-other, hardly managing a proper reason, before flying off herself. And Stuff and Thang had tottered off at about the same time, citing they had better help with the others of the landing party, which was already nearly done by the looks of it.

This left himself and Marianne to stand rather awkwardly together alone. He had finally mentioned he was glad to see her doing well and had tried to give a compliment worthy of how he truly felt but his blundered “you look.. um.. lovely” was hardly sufficient. She had merely smiled, grinned more like it, and thanked him, mentioning how dashing he was looking. He merely glanced down at himself before his own skittish grin got the better of him.

He looked the same as always.

But he appreciated it. Especially with the warm gaze she had trained on him. Too warm.

Before he had enough time to dwell on it though, she suddenly decided fresh air was in order and dragged him to the flower courtyard. He had held her hand a little too tightly, but she had paid it no mind.

He took a deep breath of the warm, fragrant air, looking around once more at the several flower varieties both large and small. “It’s nice,” he commented. “Reminds me of the forest, only, a little greener, heh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” Marianne agreed, meeting his gaze. “I used to love it here as a kid anyway, but I really love it now. I like to be reminded of you,” she said looking back to the tall flower stalks. Then, pink started to color her cheeks and she looked back to him in surprise, as if she had only just realized her own words.

He let out a small laugh, looking away then back. “Eh.. thank you?” he said, entirely unsure what he should say to that. _Why am I so bloody nervous!_ He mentally kicked himself for the fluttering feeling in his insides. It was not as if he had reason to be.

She giggled lightly, a far softer, quiet noise in comparison to her sister’s. She stepped to him, closing their distance. “I, um… I’ve missed you,” she admitted, looking up to him.

His shoulder spurs twitched as he looked down into those amber eyes. He raised his free hand, running his fingertips and palm lightly up her arm. “I’ve missed you too.” His hand felt warm where it touched her. Too warm.

“I hope there aren’t too many more of these long stretches,” she said, taking another step and entering his space. Her body was within inches, her dress brushing against his legs. “Or I may just have to fly in and make daily visits more common.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “I’d like that,” he said lowly. His breath caught, however, when her hands touched his chest. A tingling warmth spread under his carapace at her touch, making the fluttering in his insides take on a different feel.

“Oh yeah?” she asked innocently. “I’d like it more,” she quipped, her voice lowering an octave as her lips quirked mischievously.

He let out another laugh, eyes never leaving hers as he felt the too warm feeling spreading. Something in the back of his mind mentioned it was _much_ too warm, but the rest of his mind was preoccupied with her visage in front of him.

Then, her fingers hooked into his chest plates and pulled down.

His body took the hint faster than his mind did and he was suddenly enthralled with the impossibly warm, soft lips against his own. The taste of some sort of berry graced his senses as his free arm wrapped around her, pulling her flush to him as he leaned forward. Her slight intake of breath goaded is instincts and his wings shivered as he pooled more into his motions. Then her arms were around his neck, his claws were grazing against the material of her corset, and a soft heat brushed against his lips. He offered no resistance as her tongue pushed in to meet his, gingerly grazing her flesh with his sharper teeth as a low growl rumbled to life in his chest.

So warm, so very warm.

Too warm.

Much too warm!

His eyes snapped open and he gasped involuntarily, pulling up from her.

“What? What is it?” Marianne asked, slight panic coloring her voice. “Did I pull something? Step on you?” she mentioned, moving to look downward.

“N-no!” His own panic got the better of him as he held her tight. “No, I- uh, just, realized where we are,” he said in a rush.

She looked back to him with big quizzical eyes. Which then seemed to widen impossibly more as her cheeks colored. “Oh! Well, heh,” she looked away, nervous laughter getting the better of her. “I mean, it’s secluded enough,” she ventured, looking up to him with an apologetic smile. “I don’t think we’ll get smacked for kisses anyway,” she whispered.

He chuckled anxiously. “Yes well, I, uh, I have noticed how your father reacts to displays,” he mentioned.

Marianne laughed, genuine amusement coloring her expression. “Yeah, he’s always been that way, especially about his girls.”

Bog laughed with her, relief flooding him as the warmth started to die down. He loosened his grip, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back. “Well, no need to get into his bad graces so soon, eh?”

Marianne smirked at that. “You know, I respect my father, but I think I should be allowed to kiss you whenever I please,” she countered.

His smile turned into a grin. “I don’t disagree,” he replied lowly.

Marianne rose to her toes and tugged him down for a quick peck on the cheek. “Better not.”

He raised a brow at that. “Or what? You gonna tie me down and teach me a lesson, Tough Girl?” he chided.

“And what if I do? You gonna stop me?” she scoffed.

He closed his lips in a barely contained smirk. “Mmm,” was all he managed at that question, flicking his head slightly to crack his neck.

“Uh, huh,” she responded, her grin overpowering her. She then stood on her toes again and gave him a far more chaste kiss on the lips. She did linger, however, letting her lips slowly draw away and brush lightly down his chin.

He breathed in, not realizing he had stopped breathing, and shook his head. “Ye’re too much, you know that,” he uttered, his lips quirking.

“I think you can handle it,” she quipped, stepping back to reach for his hand, lacing their fingers together.

He chuckled lightly at that, following her lead as they started along the trail. He was grateful for her slow pace. The tightness in his hips was a discomfort he had not endured in a long time.

So long it seemed that he had fallen out of practice at keeping it from being noticeable.

“Bog, are you alright?”

He looked up with a start, concern marring Marianne’s expression as she stopped their procession.

“Yeah, why do you ask?” he responded, knowing it sounded too airy.

Sure enough, her brows went down, and she looked at him sternly. “You look like you’re trying to keep from scowling.” She then stood back and glanced to his figure. “And you’re walking stiffly.”

Why did she have to be so perceptive!?

“You aren’t…” He met her gaze and saw the concern in her eyes. “You aren’t hurt are you?” she asked in a lowered voice.

“N-no, no!” He released their grip to hold his hand up. “Nothing’s wrong, I’m not hurt, I’m just… sore.” He looked away. “It… it’s been a long couple of weeks. What with the summer gatherings, and talking of trade partnerships and negotiations, and clan arguments, and the mushrooms’ concerns, and the re-digging of the root trails, and the aphid infestations, and the wolf spider encroachments, and the bog sprites going on about the marshes expanding and…” he trailed off with a sigh, rubbing his fingers into his eyes. “Aye… just sore.” He had thoroughly forgotten about most of what he had flown away from for a few blessed minutes.

Perhaps he should not have stopped their moment.

Slender arms wrapping around his middle brought him back to reality and he looked down to see amber eyes gazing at him. “Enough thinking about responsibilities for a while. You deserve a break.”

He smiled ruefully, lowering his hand and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “No rest for the wicked,” he retorted.

“Pfft, not if I have anything to say about it-“

“There they are!”

Both their heads whipped to the entrance to see Dawn and Sunny waving at them. They looked back to each other before promptly separating, both faces coloring lightly.

“Oh, you two!” Dawn fluttered over, Sunny following quickly behind. “You don’t have to tone it down for us.”

Bog rubbed the back of his neck as he and Marianne chuckled in unison. _Should have seen us earlier_ , he thought.

“So, when are we gonna do this thing?”

Bog looked down to the elf in surprise, taking in the expectant smirk and crossed arms. “Eh?”

“Yeah, when are you gonna get your wings busted? Or are you putting it off?” Sunny asked with a sly grin.

Bog blinked. “What?”

“Um…”

He looked to Marianne, hands clasped behind her back as she bounced on her feet. “I may haaaave volunteered you for a dragonfly race.” She looked to him with a timid smile.

“You what?”

“Yeah!” Sunny piped. “Said you would leave my dragonflies in the dust.” He recrossed his arms and leaned forward. “I beg to differ.”

Whatever shock was in his system at this turn of events was thrown out the window at the sudden challenge. “Oh do you?” He leaned on his staff and rested a fist to his hip as he crossed one leg over the other.

“Yep.” Sunny stood straight with a self-satisfied air. “Our dragonflies are the fastest this side of the river, and no one can say otherwise.”

“I beat you two out of three,” Marianne deadpanned, though the playful gleam in her eye was hard to miss.

“Beginners luck,” Sunny retorted with a wink.

Bog started chuckling, earning all three gazes. His own eyes narrowed in on the elf as he lowered into a crouch. “Ye’re lil’ fillies have noth’n on me,” he warned with a vicious grin.

“Ooo-hoo-hoo, you are gonna eat those words, BK!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they're off!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.  
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.

“Keep talking, you know you’re fighting a battle you’ve already lost,” Bog called over his shoulder.

“All I hear is loser smack-talk from over here!” Sunny responded, tightening his saddle strap.

Marianne’s soft laughs, not quite girlish giggles but not quite full laughter, next to him were music to his ears. He looked to the feisty princess with a grin. “You’re enjoying this.”

Marianne’s eyes trailed up and down his figure before she winked. “Oh, yes I am.”

He paused in his motions, feeling the heat flushing up his neck and into his cheeks. She had seen him crack and stretch plenty of times. Though he had never thought to look and see if she was _watching_ him do so.

“What? Catch a bout of shyness?” Marianne quipped.

“Pfft, as if,” he responded without skipping a beat, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. He stood straight rolling his shoulders back, the blessed crackles flowing through his shoulder plates and down his backbone. He leaned forward, hunching his back and stretching his wings upward, moving and rotating them within their sockets, the tiny static shocks jumping into his joints refreshing in the warm air. He huffed lightly as the electricity-like tingling buzzed through his back, into his tailbone and down his legs. He stood straight once more, arching his back, his chest plates giving the same staticy crackles. He sighed audibly before he could stop himself then quickly twitched his head, cracking his neck once more. He opened his eyes, and smirked. “Good enough show for you?”

Marianne remained completely speechless, wide eyes simply staring at him.

He noticed the light color in her cheeks and down her neck, her ears curled up slightly more at the corners than usual. He tilted his head with a raised brow in amusement. “Render you speechless?” he asked, voice low and gravelly.

Her ears twitched and he saw her wings shiver. “Did you do that on purpose?”

He blinked. She was the one being cheeky, he was just stretching. “What?” It was then that he noticed her lips were tight and her fists clenched at her side, her breathing carefully controlled. “Marianne?” Concern started to prick at his mind. Had he done something wrong?

Marianne moved quickly, walking up to him and gripping his chest plates to brazenly yank him down to her. Her kiss was fast and heated, and he barely had time to react appropriately before she suddenly pushed him to stand straight and released him. “We’re going to have to have a talk later.” She flashed a searing smile before turning abruptly to walk to the other side of the barn. “Don’t take too long, Sunny’s almost ready,” she called over her shoulder.

Bog stood frozen in place, fingers and wings twitching as he stared at the now empty space in front of him. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. He blinked slowly before looking her direction, seeing Marianne chatting with Dawn. “What!?” he breathed. He stared in disbelief for several more seconds before finally looking away, shaking his head and then shaking himself, trying to loose all the tension that had immediately been lightning-bolted back into his body at her kiss. “Oh, we will definitely be having a talk later,” he muttered.

With that thought nestled in mind he trekked the same path as Marianne, coming to stand just beside the two princesses as he crossed his arms, regarding Sunny and his sturdy bronzed dragonfly stud.

The beast was fairly large for a dragonfly with a thicker thorax than average and a girthier abdomen. The legs were thicker and longer, planted firmly with its large claws digging into the ground. Its wings were wide and sturdy, flitting periodically as it patiently allowed Sunny to adjust the straps wrapping under its chest and attaching to the saddle strap at the back of its wing bases.

“Impressive,” Bog complimented. “But he won’t beat me.” He smirked as Sunny threw him a glance.

“Keep it up, big guy.”

“Oh I will.” He shifted his weight to one leg, glancing away for a moment. His smirk briefly flickered to a grimace as he quickly darted his gaze back to the elf. A familiar, dark emotion flitted through his mind. Why am I surprised-

“All done and ready to go!” Sunny shouted, hopping onto his mount. The dragonfly gave an excited buzz of its wings as it reared lightly into its back legs. Sunny gripped the saddle horns and guided the beast to turn, pointing it in the direction of their flight path. “You ready?”

“Been ready,” Bog shot. “But, one thing?” He rested his hands to his hips. “Standing start or hovering start?”

Sunny eyed him as he thought. He then craned his head to look back at the sisters. “What do you think, Dawn, should I give him a chance with a hover?”

“Yeah,” she answered cheerily. “And, you won’t throw dust everywhere.” She made a face at the bare ground, part of the fine dusty swatch surrounding all of the dragonfly pens due to their claws continuously raking up the ground.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sunny chirped, kicking the dragonfly into the air.

Bog gave a sidelong glance to Marianne who met his mischievous smirk with an identical one of her own. He hopped gracefully into a hover and ascended to Sunny’s side.

“You did that on purpose didn’t you?” Marianne whispered.

“You don’t know, it could work in Sunny’s favor,” Dawn chided.

Marianne watched, a little too excited. She had always known Bog was fast, faster than her. Even with barely witnessing it once, during their rushed flight back to the castle that night months ago when an army contingent had marched to his door, she had known he could easily outfly any flyer. His wings were built for speed, slender and streamlined, but built with such sturdiness and capable of controlled, powerful strokes. Long and uniquely elegant was just a bonus.

_A bonus that he just had to shamelessly-_

Marianne tightened her lips as she felt her ears curl lightly. She had to remind herself he had NO idea what he had done. His reaction was proof enough.

But oh, watching him display his wings so prominently and move them like that…

 _Focus Marianne_ , she coached herself, _now is not the time to lose your mind._

_But maybe later will be?_

She bit the inside of her lip and had just enough time to push that thought into a bottle before Dawn tugged at her arm. She looked at her sister with a start. “Yeah?” she said too quickly, too high pitched.

“We gotta get to the deck!”

“Oh, right!”

Bog looked out over the section of field that constituted the practice track. It was just a long stretch of shallow grass ringed by taller grass around the edges, the far end having a rather expansive display of flowering plants jutting up as a natural barrier to help guide the dragonflies into circling back instead of flying straight. There were dandelions jutting up here or there along the field, evidently the same for the main track to add in an obstacle element for more excitement. They were to start on the left side, flying the length of the track, circle back at the end and fly back on the right side to the finish, which was simply where the grass ended. Easy enough.

“Last chance to back out,” Sunny quipped.

Bog scoffed. “You wish.”

Sunny grinned. “Alrighty then- MA! Countdown!”

The bell situated at the top of the stable gate rang once.

Bog glanced back, catching sight of who was yanking the bell line and felt the grimace threaten to return as he whipped his head forward again. _So. She’s your mother,_ he thought into his own head.

The bell rang a second time.

The image he had seen not a few seconds ago before he ascended flashed across the back of his open eyes. The woman’s face caught in a moment of panic as she quickly covered the eyes of a younger elfling.

The bell rang a third time.

Tension built in his chest and crawled down his abdomen as he clenched his fists, only a lifetime of practice keeping him from piercing his own palms.

The bell rang a fourth time.

No matter. Not as if it was surprising.

The bell rang the fifth time.

They took off instantly, the air forced back by their departure buffeting the spectators.

Bog was leading from the start. The exhilaration of flying full speed coursed through his veins, the muscles of his abdomen taught, working in tandem with those in his back, providing much needed stabilization. His flight muscles worked overtime, the hum of his own wings loud in his ears as the strain started to work into his neck and chest. Though, the sound of his own heartbeat starting to pound into his ears made it hardly noticeable.

By the time he reached the far end of the track his emotional bout was pushed out of his mind and he darted low, focusing carefully on the rushing blades of grass. He looked up, over his shoulder and grinned, seeing Sunny higher up and dozens of wingbeats behind him. He focused on his path again, his taught muscles stretching as he arched into the turn. The sound of the grass blades whipping by felt as sharp as the objects themselves could be and with just the slightest twitches and rolls he was able to nimbly pass the taller ones, dodging by the dandelion stalks with ease.

The dragonfly stables came into view, growing larger in an instant. Cutting it a little too close, he arched, feeling the air pressure exerted from the building as he soared straight up into the air.

He finally relaxed his body, rolling backwards and falling for a moment before righting himself. He listened to the sound of his own heavy breathing as he looked down, gauging Sunny to be at least fifty wingbeats behind him as the elf crested the grass. He started to hover downward, grinning as the elf pulled the Dragonfly to a stop.

“Holy STICKS! What was that?” Sunny shouted, somehow radiating both excitement and astonishment in the same expression.

Bog gestured his arms out to either side of himself. “Where ye been? Ye’re the one tell’n me off, an’ I can’t see ye for the dust!” he goaded, the giddy rush of the flight coloring his notice of his accent thickening.

“HA! That was great!” Several eyes turned to a taller, bigger elf, who looked remarkably like Sunny. “You race in your spare time?”

Bog shook his head. “Nae, but speed is worth e’ry beat when ye need it.”

“True that,” the elf replied. “You should take a lesson from him, little bro,” he said, shaking a finger at Sunny.

“What? Me?” Sunny crossed his arms indignantly. “Come on, Swe-“

“Oh yeah,” Sweet answered, winking at his brother. “Low and controlled, that’s how the best riders win. Too high and you catch too much air and risk being bounced around which slows you up.”

“Since when has Denny done that?” Sunny questioned, gesturing over to their actual jockey.

“All the time if you paid attention,” the smaller ginger-haired elf retorted. “Remember,” he pointed his thumb at himself, “I do this for a living. I know what I’m doing.” He then laughed as Sunny stuck his tongue out.

“Take the advice and you might actually make a good jockey someday, lil’ bro,” Sweet threw in with a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sunny waved his hand at them. “Round two!” He pointed to Bog. “But this time, standing start.”

Bog shrugged. “Ye’re call,” he chided.

They hovered to the ground and took position, Sunny nudging the dragonfly low and back on his haunches while Bog crouched, one hand clawed into the dirt.

The bell rang its first chime.

“Wait, you’re using the same mount,” Marianne called.

“Well yeah,” Sunny responded as the second chime rang. “This is Silver Dash, he’s our champion. He can handle three rounds back-to-back!” He patted its head.

The bell rang a third time.

“What! Were you racing me on newbies?”

The bell rang a fourth time.

“I wouldn’t call them new, just fresh to the course!”

The bell rang the fifth time.

They both shot up from the ground, dirt kicking up from the gust of their wings. Sunny was ahead for a few seconds, but Bog quickly overtook him, ducking underneath him to take the lead.

Bog was impressed to see Sunny actually taking the advice from his brother, following more behind than above. He was much closer as well, keeping in line with Bog’s wake. He took the turn and glanced behind, estimating about a dozen wingbeats. _So, you can listen to good advice when you want, eh?_ he thought in amusement.

They raced back up the track, keeping about the same distance the entire way before they both had to fly upwards to avoid the stables.

Bog was panting now as he hovered downward with Sunny, who was laughing spiritedly. “Naw’ bad,” he huffed with a grin. “Ye’re good at adjustment, tha’s a good sign.”

Sunny positively beamed. “You hear that!” He pointed accusingly at Sweet and the others. “I got this!”

“Takes more than one,” the ginger elf said with a haughty smile. “But you might have a chance if you keep it up,” he said playfully.

“On that note,” Sweet pointed to the both of them. “Last round. But you hover,” he pointed to Bog, “and you stand,” he pointed to Sunny, “So we can get a proper comparison.”

Bog mock bowed in the air, drawing his arm in a long arch. “As ye wish.”

“Oooo, I got you this time.” Sunny guided the dragonfly to a stand and nudged it back into stance. “You can’t get win all three,” he insisted.

“Watch me!” Bog grinned and faced forward, readying himself.

Sunny’s mother did the honor of ringing the bell again, silence filling the excited tension in the air between chimes. On the fifth chime, they shot off again, even with each other.

Sweet looked over to Marianne with a sly expression. “Ya boy fast, huh?”

Marianne could barely hide her smile. “Oh yeah,” she said with pride.

Sweet chuckled as he looked back to the racers. “Hopefully not too fast, you know-wut-I-mean.”

Marianne’s smile turned tight. Red flushed up her neck as she whipped her head around to watch as well. _Sweet, I swear!_

Bog was now sure Sunny was either very lucky or was more experienced than he let on. They were a mere seven wingbeats apart, though he was still in the lead. He maneuvered lower, as low as he dared, the tops of the grass blades skimming his carapace every now and again. His wings were starting to ache and he could feel the heat pooling in his back, shoulders and chest. It had been a long time since he had pushed himself to his speed limit for an extended period of time, this morning not counting as he was simply flying faster than average, not as fast as he could. But even with the ache, the sheer rush made it all worth it.

He grinned viciously as he took the turn again, glancing to see Sunny starting to fall back. A low chuckle made it out between his heavy breaths and he continued staying low, urging his muscles to stay in rhythm.

“It ain’t over yet!”

He looked back to see Sunny having gained a few wingbeats closer, smashing himself as closely to the dragonfly’s body as he could to gain a few precious seconds. “Give it yer best, boy!” he hollered.

Sunny grinned and opened his mouth to retort before suddenly throwing his arm in front of him and pointing ahead. “BK! Watch-”

He looked back just in time to see a cloud of white.

Marianne gasped involuntarily, hearing the same from Dawn and several of the others as Bog slammed into the dandelion. White dandelion fluff exploded everywhere and trailed behind him as he tumbled forward and into the grass. She jumped from the stable’s deck and dove for the area. She hovered for a moment, catching a few brief glimpses of him as he moved through the grass, evidently uninjured.

Physically anyway.

A small smile graced her lips through the concern as she heard a few choice words shouted through the grass blades. She assessed the area and hovered over to the edge, by the taller grass. “Over here!” she called. “It’s a shorter distance.” She heard him start making his way towards her and she landed at the far side. “Come on, over here.”

“Bloody stupid!”

“I know, I know, come on.”

“I can’t BELIEVE I let that happen!”

Bog finally elbowed his way out of the grass, his face all but a thundering rage as he started furiously wiping at his shoulder spurs, arms and legs, trying to get the offending dandelion fluff off his person. “Bloody stupid!” he repeated.

Marianne chuckled lightly as she moved to start helping, nimbly dodging the clawed hands as the recklessly swiped at his own limbs. “You wouldn’t be the first to hit a dandelion,” she soothed, starting in on the crevices of his chest plates.

Bog stood straighter and moved his hands more carefully, allowing her more deft fingers to pick at his chest as he continued with his arms. “And? Donnae mean it wern’t stupid,” he growled.

Marianne shook her head in amusement. “I love it when you’re so indignant.” She reached up and worked her fingers into his chitin collar around his neck, grabbing for the individual seedlings lodged there.

He went stiff at her motions but made a face as he looked down at her. “And why is that?”

She looked him the eye. “Because it’s one of the things that draws out your accent,” she answered with a smoldering look.

He somehow stiffened even more and stared at her as his expression flashed to surprise.

“BK! You okay?” Sunny landed next to them hopping off his dragonfly, concern radiating from his form.

“Yeah, ah’m fine,” Bog sighed, rubbing his fingers into his eyes.

Marianne snorted lightly as she plucked a random seedling from between his shoulder spur joints, earning a twitch and a rattle. “Just a bruised ego and a few new accessories.” She smirked as Bog groaned.

Dawn landed close to Sunny and heaved a sigh of relief. “Good, that looked intense. I was almost worried.”

Marianne noticed the subtle vibration from Bog’s chest under her touch as he chuckled. “Well, thanks for the concern,” he said, running his hand over his face.

“No problem!” Dawn said brightly before turning to Sunny. “C’mon Sunny, we need to get Silver to the stables.” She almost too quickly gripped Sunny’s hand and lead him away, the obedient dragonfly steed allowing itself to be guided by Sunny’s other hand.

“Wha- shouldn’t we help?” Sunny asked.

“Nah, Marianne’s got it,” Dawn answered loudly. She then winked down at Sunny with her face turned away out of the other two’s line of sight.

Sunny raised his brows before a smirk colored his face. “Okay then.”

Marianne shook her head again. “Aaaand back to Sunny,” she murmured. She returned her own attention to Bog’s carapace, stepping back to see all the fluff gone from his front. “Okay, time for the back.”

Bog groaned again as he tried to reach behind himself from under his arm. “This is why I avoid dandelions like the plague,” he grumbled.

“Oh, you stubborn- come here!” Marianne gripped his arm and yanked him from the grass, pulling him over to the one of the shade plants just beyond the track and out of view of the barn.

“Aey, I don’t-“

“Have arms like a spider so don’t argue and turn around,” she interrupted, pulling him to the trunk of the plant and quickly darting behind him. “No sit on the bench and let me get these off you.” She insisted.

He gave a half-growl, half-sigh and sat on the too-small-for-him rosewood bench, leaning forward as he faced the plant’s trunk. “Just make it quick, please,” he groaned.

“Pfft, you big baby.” She started to work as he hunched his shoulders, giving more access to his back and the bases of his wings.

And quickly found herself distracted while she worked.

She quite easily gathered the dandelion seedlings, plucking them out of his carapace’s nooks and crannies. However, the more she found to pluck out, the harder she found it to keep from running her fingers along the surfaces. His back plates, starting from the joint where his chitin collar met his backbone and spreading down along his upper back and shoulders, were much smoother than the other plates of his hide. They were just smooth enough, but with just enough texture that they felt like pre-polished granite under her fingertips.

Very warm pre-polished granite.

“You’re hot. You got quite a workout, huh,” she said, trying to keep her tone leveled.

She barely noticed that no response was given as she ran her fingers around the bases of his wing joints, plucking out the last of the seedlings. She also failed to notice just how still he was as she compulsively ran her fingers around the joints again before running her fingers up the ridges where his wing bases merged with the plates of his backbone. Part of her had intended it as a comforting motion. Part of her selfishly just wanted to touch him. Other than a few teasing touches she had managed over the last several months she had never actually felt between his wings. She had always known the plates were different there, but she had been too shy to ask if she could feel them. She could not be blamed for taking this random chance, could she?

“There,” she whispered, finally removing her hands. “All done.” She took a step back with a smile. But concern immediately flooded her insides when Bog did not move.

He remained seated, still hunched over, and impossibly motionless as if the polished stone feel of his back had taken over him and he had solidified into a statue.

“Bog?” She stepped back to him and caught a glimpse over his shoulder of his hand clasped tightly over his knee. “Bog? Bog, what’s wrong?” she questioned, moving around the bench to get in front of him.

“Perhaps…”

Too quickly a large hand was at her waist, and a sharp tug had her already bent knees buckling and she was kneeling in front of him, nestled between his opened legs.

“… ye should be a hair less lingering wi’those fingers, Love.”

She had opened her mouth to respond, but any words that would have left her lips fizzled out as his eyes met hers.

Those impossibly crystal blue irises ringed dark, large pupils set behind heavy lids and an expression she had never seen on his face. But she knew exactly what it was. The impossibly warm hand at her back was nothing compared to the flaming heat that seared through her abdomen from between her legs and she felt as if a live furnace was paying a visit to her face. A noise reverberated to life from his throat that sounded suspiciously like a cross between a purr and a growl and a sudden sensation against her leg made her breath catch in her throat.

His other hand had slipped passed her dress and found her thigh. Her bare thigh.

_Dammit, Dawn!_

The calloused but smooth skin of his fingers and palm ghosted over the top of her softer skin. His thumb dipped down to tease at the more sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, claws just barely touching the surface and leaving little trails of fire in their wake.

Oh, how she could have lost it right there.

But her still functioning self-control condensed the all-out moan threatening to escape into a shuddering breath as she kept her eyes on his. Somehow, that reaction seemed to cause just as much in him as he pulled her closer, his claws catching at the material of her dress. His hand inched further up her thigh. That soft growl escaped his lips again as he bared his teeth in a wolfish grin and narrowed his eyes. She felt her wings shudder as tingling waves of anticipation fluttered down her costals.

She was panting as if she had flown a marathon and he had barely done anything to her.

And did she _want_ him to do things to her. She had not breathed a word to anyone of what she had started to want, started to yearn for from her fierce goblin king. The gentleness, the care, the chasteness of it all was wonderful and loving. The fact that he had not once tried to push her further into their physical relationship but instead waited for her to make it known when she was ready was so unbelievably endearing. Brief touches to his spine, fluttering fingertips on his throat, and gentle nips at his lips had been met with firm holds of her hips, course tongue to her pulse, and teeth trailing her jaw. And their kisses had gotten so much more heady the more they had both gotten used to each others’ touch.

But after a month away from him except for the better part of a few minutes at a time… she wanted more.

She wanted him.

She bit her lip as she finally moved, resting a hand on his arm wrapped around her. She drew her other hand up to caress his cheek.

She wanted him. But not right here. Not right now.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking into his eyes earnestly as she willed herself to ignore the raging fire he had ignited. “I should have thought about what I was doing.” Regret tugged at her mind as she acknowledged she had ignited the fire currently raging in him. “I know better and I should have been more careful.”

He took a deep breath. As he let it out, his purring growl devolved into a tired groan and those impossibly blue eyes closed. He ducked his head and leaned forward, removing his left hand from her thigh to wrap his arm around her with the other one, pulling her into a hug as he buried his face into her neck.

She wrapped an arm over his shoulders and stayed motionless with him, holding him tight as they both tried to steady their breathing. She silently warred with herself as part of her wished he would trail his hands over her body and another part wanted to punch herself in the face for so blatantly handling such a sensitive area with little to no regard for the consequences. He had even asked her to work quickly, obviously knowing what could happen.

She could feel the beginnings of frustrated tears pricking at her eyes.

“Water.”

“Huh?”

“Water, Love,” he whispered, moving to look at her. She looked into his eyes, now far softer and gentler, if not sporting a hint of embarrassment. He offered a half smile and small laugh. “The coldest they’ve got. I… I need to cool down…”

It was then that she noticed his flushed face, a feint warm color at the edges of his cheeks and a strangely dark color fading down from his eyes. It was hard to tell in the darkness of the shade, but it seemed a far darker color than she had ever seen his face flush before. She then realized he had a point about needing to cool down.

The heat between their bodies was almost stifling. His own under her hands felt as if he had a fever.

“Are you alright?” she asked, concern heavy in her mind.

“Aye, certainly will be,” he breathed. “I just… need to cool down,” he reiterated, looking at her with almost pleading eyes.

She nodded. “Okay. I’ll be right back.” She kissed the heated skin of his cheek and made to stand.

He unwound his arms from her quickly and she did not fail to notice how he purposely leaned forward too far once she was on her feet. She squeezed a scale of one of his shoulder spurs and hurried herself in the direction of the barn. She looked back over her shoulder, noticing his wings flitting every few seconds as he remained slumped on the bench. Regret squeezed her insides as she mentally berated herself once again.

 _Great job, Marianne! First you claim his face in a public garden and then push him to the edge near a family owned stable! What a great way to give him the hint!_ She growled at herself.

**~*~**

The castle was refreshingly cool after the time in the heat and… their moment. Marianne had been quick in coming back with an acorn bucket full of water and had without question dumped a majority of it over his head and back. He had hissed thunderously at the comparatively cold water against his heated hide. The shock to his body had been exactly what he had needed, however, and within minutes he was back to normal. Luckily, it was only minutes, as shortly after they were joined by Dawn and Sunny and being reminded of the time.

Sunny needed to head back to the castle with Dawn to start his community service for the day: Attendant and scribe to the members of the royal council. It had been thought up by Dagda during the hearings as a way to serve some sort of sentence for his involvement in the love potion fiasco but also as way to get him ready for what he could expect if he were to remain serious about his involvement with Dawn. So far, he was actually very good at his tasks. He had yet to forget an appointment, had scheduled daily tasks and activities without conflict, and had managed to keep a rolling conversation about most topics, asking all the right questions when he did not understand something in particular. He had yet to make any mistakes in his three months of service and audits of his work always came up that he did everything as instructed down to every dot and dash.

Bog had found himself continuously impressed with this little elf. As if breaking and entering his castle without getting caught until his attempted escape was not impressive enough. He could not help but concede that if he continued to put his all into the effort as he had been, the elf would probably make for a great prince for the Green Meadow kingdom.

He looked from the smaller male to several of the counselors of the fairy court. They were chatting and going on about the meetings tomorrow. He had to hide a grimace. He still could not get the unease from his mind. Though, why it continued to get worse, he was not sure.

“Majesties.”

He glanced to the side as one of the counselors addressed himself and Marianne. A taller, dark haired fairy with smaller, violet colored eyes and wings of a dark amber and burgundy mix. She was older, but not the same generation as Dagda and carried herself with grace. Bog had actually taken a liking to this one almost immediately.

The lack of disgust, shock, or fear in her face when she addressed him for the first time was a key factor.

“Yes, Lady Nael, how are you today?” Marianne asked politely.

“Doing well, princess,” the older fairy said with a nod.

“What can we do for you?” Bog questioned, not missing that she had addressed the both of them.

“I would like to speak to you both privately if you have time. In the library if you do not mind.” She looked between the two of them, face pleasant but an inherent seriousness about her.

“Of course,” Marianne said with a gesture that direction.

The walk to the library was leisurely to an extent. Lady Nael had not rushed them, but she certainly was not walking at the pace of a garden stroll either. She filled the air with average questions, asking how the day fared for them so far, what nonsense they may have gotten into with the younger princess and so one. She was quite amiable in her conversation concerning dragonfly racing, admitting that it was one of her favorite pastimes and she caught every race when available. But they found themselves at the library quickly enough. Lady Nael lead them up the expansive staircase, to the upper floors, absently commenting to Bog about how the great cavern had been carved in past generations without exact planning or care, creating the multifloored, honeycombed structures on either side of the large space.

“As much as I appreciate the commentary, I don’t think you brought us here to show me around,” Bog said in an even voice.

Lady Nael chuckled lightly as she turned to the rail, looking out across the open sanctum of the library. “You would be right, Majesty.”

She paused to take a deep breath. It seemed… heavy. Her tight bun at the back her head bobbed up as she tipped her face downward, her straight, proud shoulders tilting downward as well.

“I wanted to speak to you, both of you,” she added. She looked back to them then, her violet eyes catching them both off guard with the strange intensity they held.

“… about tomorrow’s visitors from the Misty Rivers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the read. Have a good day or night and a wonderful time~*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, here we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.  
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.  
> AN: The chapters will start to get progressively longer from here on, but for now, please enjoy the buildup!

Only his own practice over many years had kept him showing how Lady Nael’s words had caused a lump to jump into his throat from the pit in his stomach. _Oh, here we go,_ he thought.

“Oh?” Bog looked to Marianne and saw her expression mirroring the confusion in that single word. “Why? I mean, they’re our allies, they have been for… well, as long as I can remember,” Marianne said with a thoughtful look. 

Lady Nael smiled, but what may have been a comforting gesture held behind it a thick wall of worry. “Yes. The Misty River kingdom has been ally to the Green Meadows for a long time. After all,” she shrugged lightly, running a hand over the library rail fondly, “I wouldn’t be here if that weren’t the case.”

It was Bog’s turn to tilt his head confusedly. “You are from the Misty Rivers?” He supposed he should have known something like that to be the case. Lady Nael, out of all the councilors, held herself… uniquely. There was a way in which she spoke, observed, and even walked that was just slightly different from the rest of the council. That and her general appearance. She seemed taller than most other fairy females of the Green Meadows, with darker hair and darker wings, despite her pale skin. Her eyes were markedly smaller as well. Still bright, colorful, just not as physically large. 

Then of course there was her complete acceptance of him without a single moment of hesitation. 

Those violet eyes of hers met his and he had to resist the urge to shy away at the odd expression in them. 

“Yes, Majesty, I am from the Misty River kingdom,” she affirmed. “There are a few of us here, though I came specifically as a political aid to King Dagda.”

“Oh really?” He leaned on his staff, curiosity sparked. 

She smiled fondly. “Yes. King Onyx and King Dagda have been good friends for the longest time, nearly their entire kingships. As their political experience grew, his Majesty King Onyx felt new insights on both sides would be beneficial. He has had at least one or two of King Dagda’s emissaries among his council as well.” Her fond expression seemed to fade as she looked to the floor. 

Bog glanced to Marianne just as she looked to him. Marianne looked back to the counsellor and leaned on the rail, crossing her arms. “So, what is your concern?” Her voice held nothing but her own apprehensive curiosity as she gave the older woman her full attention.

Lady Nael took a deep breath, looking up to Marianne before her eyes darted squarely to Bog. 

He could not help the sharpness in his gaze as he narrowed his eyes. 

“King Onyx,” Lady Nael averted her eyes, once again looking out into the library, “is a truly kind _person_ , a strong and caring king.”

Bog snuck a glance to his right, curious if Marianne noticed the inflection in Lady Nael’s wording. Her gaze was straight, nothing to indicate she had noticed. 

“But the king is not the one to be weary of.”

His eyes shot back at those words. “Is that so?” he questioned.

“Yes,” she answered almost too quickly. “You see… in the Misty Rivers… the king is not the absolute authority.”

It was Marianne’s turn. “Right,” she commented. “I am aware of that. The Court Council has equal authority to the king, they aren’t just advisors but a second ruling body.”

Bog looked between the two of them, trying to understand where this was going. He was not unfamiliar with this concept. It was not dissimilar to the way the Dark Forest operated. He was king yes, but the chieftains of the clans held their own authority. His authority over them was subject to strict honor codes and previous precedents which the clan elders that made up his own council helped to understand and execute. But he could see no reason why two ruling authorities would be an issue when meeting with a potential new ally. Unless…

“As such, Princess,” Lady Nael looked to Marianne with a somber expression, “you can understand how… _differences of opinion_ between two ruling sects of a single kingdom can be troublesome.”

There it was. 

His grip on his staff tightened. He knew there had to be a reason his unease had refused to leave him. 

“So,” Marianne looked at her thoughtfully, “you think the king won’t have any issue with our new alliance with the Dark Forest, but that the council might?” she voiced.

Lady Nael took another of her deep breaths as she regarded Marianne, but her eyes once again shot to Bog with that unusual intensity. 

Suddenly, a very unwelcome feeling started pricking at his insides. A brief hint of nostalgia wafted into the back of his mind and he clenched his teeth against it. _No_ , he willed, almost desperately. 

“I’m afraid, Princess, it isn’t quite that simple,” Lady Nael answered, eyes never leaving Bog’s. 

“I don’t understand,” Marianne looked between the two of them. 

“It isn’t so much that the council may disagree with dealing with goblins,” the older woman said, eyes glued to Bog’s in a way that spoke volumes more than the crown princess could grasp. 

Bog held her gaze. The pit in his stomach grew. An ache started to flare in his hand as he gripped his staff too tightly. _No_ , he whispered into his own mind. _Anything but…_

“It’s him.” 

Lady Nael’s words had been so soft. Her expression had turned from that intensity to a strangely profound understanding that could only come from experience. 

The pit in his stomach filled with a raw, deep and unquenchable ache that made the ache from his hand feel like less than a prick from a thorn. The feeling was so rooted into his body and his bones that, while he had managed to ignore it, bury it under responsibility and duty, push it back into the deepest recesses of his consciousness over the last decade of his life, just those two softly spoken words from the woman in front of him opened the floodgate and allowed it to cascade back into his essence with sickening ease.

“Him? You mean Bog? Him personally?”

Oh, Marianne’s innocence to this was laughable. But he was so overwhelmed by the waves of nostalgia that her obliviousness only made him want to vomit. Of course, she had no idea. Why would she? Neither her nor this woman in front of him knew what memories threatened to break free across the back of his open eyes. However, he would have at least expected Marianne to have some idea of what the older woman from another kingdom was hinting at. The very thing that had created those memories he knew neither of them had knowledge of. How could she not at least know that much? 

That he was a creature that should not exist.

“Yes, Princess Marianne,” Lady Nael spoke. “The Bog King, himself.” 

He was aware that his breathing had shallowed. He was gripping the staff with both hands now, and he knew his scowl was barely contained. The older woman was not deterred by it, however. She simply held his gaze, that understanding in her eyes blatantly displayed in a way that made him want to break something. 

“I don’t understand.”

Anger seeped in at Marianne’s statement. He clenched his jaw hard and pointedly looked away from both of them. His wings gave a violent shiver as tension caused a crick in his back and neck that provided a welcome distraction. He knew Marianne did not deserve his anger. In reality, he understood he was not angry at her. Just the situation. The same situation that had revolved around him his entire life. The situation he was bound to by nature of his very existence.

“Bog?” Her soft touch against his armored arm was too much in that moment.

A growl, deep and guttural left him without warning, his instincts and emotions getting the better of him. Her small gasp sliced through the cacophony in his mind somewhat, aided by her grip at his arm tightening instead of fluttering away. He clenched his eyes shut, face still averted. _Calm down_ , he managed to whisper to himself. _It’s not her fault she doesn’t know._

“What’s going on? What do I need to know?” The determination in Marianne’s voice was like a salve to a wound. He took a deep breath, suddenly feeling the ache receding, like a decrepit creature afraid of the light. 

“Would you like me to explain, your Majesty?” 

He opened his eyes looking slowly to those violet orbs. Lady Nael was regarding him with the utmost patience, arms clasped in front of herself respectfully. That understanding was still there. He narrowed his eyes, now wondering exactly how this woman knew what Marianne seemed clueless towards. What was her experience exactly that had lead to this natural understanding? “Please do,” he answered, voice rough to his own ears. 

The woman was unphased, however, and simply nodded. She looked to Marianne and tilted her head upward, her posture straitening, and looking for all the world like a teacher about to lecture a student. “Princess, do you remember in your youth doing studies of the different races of our world?”

Marianne, hand still holding his arm, nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Do you not remember the portion about halfbloods?”

The silence was deafening. 

Bog ventured a glance to Marianne, noting her brows furrowed as her eyes drifted down, as if looking at something just in front of her that only she could see. “I do. But I don’t see what that has to do with-“ she stopped short. Her eyes went wide, and she stared blankly. Then, those amber pools of hers were on him, looking at him as if she had never seen him before. “Bog… you…”

He laughed, a gravelly, tired sound lacking mirth of any kind. “Yes, Love,” he answered her yet to be asked question.

“I have Fae blood in me.”

**~*~**

The Misty Rivers kingdom. Nestled at the base of the mountains, home to the heart of the rivers that ran through both the Green Meadows and Dark Forest. It was a thriving, if enigmatic, kingdom. Its people, fairy folk, were taller and quicker, both in words and with weapons. And while they were kind and compassionate, they were also secretive and distrusting.

They were also a kingdom divided. 

It was a dirty little secret that was not quite so little, Lady Nael had explained. A secret kept from all of the outside world with utmost solidarity on both sides of the conflict. The root of the issue?

Halfbloods.

Specifically, halfbloods that were mixed goblin and fairy heritage. There were those in the kingdom who saw them as ordinary people who just looked different, treating them all the same as anyone else. However, there were plenty in the kingdom who looked down on these individuals, treating them as less than either fairy or goblin, as if they were merely animals capable of speech. The king, according to Nael, was an advocate for halfblood rights, a shining beacon to those families and individuals that had been suffering from the discrimination their whole lives. The Court Council, however, felt differently. For generations the conflict had been at a stalemate from both sides, the council deeming halfbloods as “undesirable”, blemishes to society, and even dangerous with the royal line pushing back stating that people were people, no matter their bloodlines, that their actions and contributions spoke louder than the color of their blood.

Lady Nael had been mum on the details of exactly _how_ goblins came to reside in the Misty Rivers kingdom, only that there had been a stable populous there for about five generations. Interbreeding had happened since the very start and continued to happen despite the council’s influence and attempted meddling with societal structure. The council had only so much say in the people’s day-to-day lives, so had settled for strict laws and oppressive regulations and even demeaning requirements that should by rights be illegal to even suggest; Lady Nael did not elaborate on the specifics of these _requirements_.

In the end, she iterated that her intent was simply to prepare them for the possibility that the council members in attendance may behave… unsuitably. She doubted highly that _anyone_ in the Misty Rivers had known of the Bog King’s heritage. While she believed King Onyx may be pleasantly surprised, perhaps even excited considering his political stance on society in his own kingdom, she doubted the council members present would be cordial. A step above sneering derogatives at best. 

Marianne had been far too hopeful despite the picture Lady Nael had painted. “Certainly, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to insult a sovereign,” she had suggested. 

Bog had glanced to the older woman and could see the hint in her expression, as if she were trying with all her effort to keep from lifting those politely crossed hands of hers and rake her fingers over impossibly tired eyes. “If I could say that I had not seen their behavior before, princess, I would be inclined to agree with you,” she had said tightly. 

There was more to the story. He was sure of it. The way Lady Nael looked at him, the way she spoke to him, the way she seemed to _know something_ that she was cradling just out of reach, as if afraid to speak it; it bothered him. More than he wanted to admit. But he supposed it could not be helped. She had risked a lot of her own reputation telling them so bluntly. He could only expect so much from her and could not ask her to reveal anything more without perhaps putting herself further at risk in some form. Her position on Dagda’s council, perhaps. Perhaps more, if her guarded words were to be taken at more than face value.

Bog was lost in these thoughts, sitting in a chair much too small for him as he leaned over the library desk, listening to Marianne flipping through the pages of the book in her lap. They were in one of the little office-like alcoves carved into the walls and honeycomb structures of the library. Marianne had wanted to find the old books on halfbloods, and he had obliged to follow along with her. He was not in a very talkative mood after Lady Nael’s words. He was thankful Marianne had been rather quiet herself. He focused on one of the books in front of him, “An Hystorie of Halfe Folke”. He scoffed lightly. What history did these dusty old books know? Written by stuffy scholars in plush chairs sitting at comfortable desks? He found it hard to believe any haughty fairy know-it-all knew anything of just how difficult, miserable, even dangerous the life of a halfblood could be. Had they been there? Living with whispers and stares and barely contained snarls and veiled threats? Had they seen the hate and disgust in the eyes of any pureblood deeming themselves more worthy just because of appearance or the color of their blood? Had they had to match blow for blow in a brawl that broke bones because some pureblood wanted to pick a fight? Had they been there, woken in the dead of night when-

“Will you just talk to me?”

His eyes shot from the book cover to the large amber orbs looking down at him. Marianne was sitting on the table. He had not remembered her taking a seat there, shuffling close to his arm. His arm that was draped over the table at the end of which sharp claws had dug into the wood of the tabletop. His gaze drifted swiftly back to his hand. He stared at his own fingers as he wrenched his claws one-by-one from the wood surface. 

“There isn’t anything to talk about.”

“Yes, there is unless you just really hate this table.”

“It’s hideous.”

Marianne heaved a tightly controlled sigh. “Listen, I know I was embarrassingly oblivious at first. But I wasn’t… I mean, I’ve only learned about halfbloods once- well… twice in my life.” She looked down at her hands in her lap, worrying the fingers of one between the fingers of the other. “And that was in the context of studies in my textbooks. Once when I was ten and once when I was fifteen. And it wasn’t something that a lot of time was spent on, it was almost like an obligation of my tutoring, nothing anyone put much importance on. And in case you don’t remember, when we first met, the least of my concerns was why you looked so different from anyone else I’d ever seen before. I mean, I know I could have asked at some point, but we’ve been busy and-“

“That’s not-“ Bog snapped his mouth shut and looked away. Luckily, his outburst had stopped her rambling but he was still in no more a mood to speak on a subject she had still not quite grasped. “That’s not an issue. I don’t care,” he said, trying to retain a softer tone but feeling it failing. He let out his own sigh. “Just drop it, please, Marianne.” He could feel as much as hear the edge to his own voice and that just seemed to further his foul mood.

“I won’t drop it because something is clearly wrong.”

“Naw’ more wrong than’is ever been!” he snarled, claws raking splinters from the table’s surface as he whipped his head around to glare at her. 

Marianne did not shy away, however. She did not even flinch. She simply sat there, staring at him with determination.

Somehow, that determination that had soothed him earlier now just seemed to incite him further.

With a thundering growl he was out of the chair, pacing back and forth in their little alcove, the space so small he only got two steps in with each crossing. That made it even worse.

He had not felt this, this sickeningly intense amalgamation of emotional turmoil in so long. He hated it. The fury that had been stoked and molded into him throughout his life, borne of the words and actions of self-righteous individuals who thought themselves so superior; the anger at himself for still harboring this emotion; frustration at being angry at someone else for not understanding, not even knowing; the resentment towards himself for feeling such a way, especially towards Marianne, when she clearly was trying to do something about it and be here for him; the fear that this whole twisted mass of old wounds and buried memories littering his insides would get the better of him and he would do something incredibly stupid and possibly unforgivable…

“I-I can’t- I just- It’s not…” Words died in his mouth. He growled at himself, bringing his hands up to drag his claws over his head as he clenched his eyes shut. He continued his pacing, wings spasming violently behind him hitting the walls of the alcove, the chair, Marianne’s knees, anything too close because everything was too close in this room that was too bloody small for him to even stand up straight in. “It’s not so simple! I can’t just- I’m not-“ He could not form a sentence and he suddenly felt tight in the chest, like the too small room was getting smaller and cutting off his air. “Words aren’t good enough! I can’t say…” Blood was thundering in his ears and his steps were becoming haggard. A hint of panic pricked at his mind at the thought that he was spiraling out of control. He could not move, breathe, could not even form a coherent string of words to give form to the chaos running rampant in his mind.

“I can’t just _tell_ you why I shouldn’t exist!” 

He barely heard his own statement as his eyes screwed shut tighter. _I need to calm down, I need to breath, I need-_

He was knocked out of his mental turmoil by tiny hands gripping his shoulders and shoving him backwards, his own unsteady footing causing him to lose balance and slam into the wall. He gasped as his wings protested painfully to the pressure, his legs bent and barely holding him up against the wall as Marianne leaned all her weight onto him. He stared at her, only a breath of a moment to register the dark scowled anger on her face before she closed the distance between them. Her lips crashed against his and only the instinctive knowledge that it was Marianne in front of him kept him from reflexively sinking his claws into her body when he grabbed her. His mind reeled as his body reacted on it’s own, his lips fighting hers for dominance as his arms trembled between the urge to push back or pull closer. 

A small, grating sound seeming somewhere between a growl and a moan came from Marianne’s throat and she drew one hand from the back of his neck to his jaw, yanking down with her thumb as she pulled with the other, pressing his head further back and forcing his teeth apart to delve her tongue inwards to dominate his mouth. The fight part of his body gave up completely, his arms wrapping around her lithe form and pulling her flush to him. He fought her with his tongue as he skirted his hands down her back and side, claws catching the fabric of her dress with the motion. Suddenly, her mouth was removed from his, but he shuddered against the wall as needy nips traced up his jaw, her one hand pushing his chin up while the other seemed to disappear from the back of his neck.

He barely had time to register that her other hand had gone when her lips reached his pulse, just under his jaw. He let out a shuddering growl of a breath. Her warm body tight against his and soft lips against his skin was fanning the flames of his insides and he was already warming back up with dangerous speed. Then, her teeth caught his flesh. His breath hitched and a strangled sound left his throat as more heat seared from his neck straight down his abdomen, her teeth biting down harder in response. His arms twitched, claws digging slightly into her dress where he held onto her and he felt his legs tremble. _This… wait… what?_ He fluttered his eyes open, a breathy gasp betraying his body as his mind flailed, trying to make sense of what was happening, his emotions crashing into each other like dragonflies in a windstorm. 

That was when her other hand made its location known.

Scorching electricity shot straight up his spine and jolted through his limbs, wingjoints and right to his groin as she scratched her blunt nails down the arch of his back. _Hard_. His back arched involuntarily as a throaty growl of a moan escaped his mouth. He barely registered he had lost his footing but the slight pain of sliding down the wall and landing heavily on his arse was quickly overruled as Marianne dropped with him. 

She planted her knees onto his thighs and captured his lips once more, tiny hands holding his face hostage as she assaulted his mouth, tongue dancing past his teeth as if breaking a battle-line. He held onto her for dear life, mind on the verge of uselessness at her onslaught. One of her small, strong hands once again loosed from his face but trailed up over his shoulder. His body shuddered violently as her fingers slid roughly down the connective plate over his spine between his wings. _I can’t… this-s has- has to…_ He could not think past the touch of her fingers, the taste of her tongue in his mouth. _S-stop…_ Her fingers curled and she pulled up, digging into the plate, letting her fingertips catch along the side edges. Molten heat seared to life between his wings and rushed into his abdomen as he gasped, his head rolling backwards as he arched away from her touch. _Stop…_ She took the opportunity at his neck and leaned down biting hard as she let her lips drag across his skin. A thunderous moan colored with a heady growl reverberated through his chest as he gripped her tighter to him no longer aware if his claws were in check or not. _Stop!_ She leaned forward, fingers clawing at his back, tongue at his throat. Her knee slipped forward pressing into the joint between his hip and groin. The ache between his legs throbbed violently and what felt like literal fire flared up his abdomen. 

“Stop!” He could barely catch his breath, heavy panting robbing him of the air he so desperately needed. “Stop,” he all but whimpered. “I need… stop… please… s-stop…”

In an instant, she was rigid against him, arms wrapped strategically around his shoulder spur and head, holding him close. Her heart was pounding in her chest against his ear, the rhythmic thrum adding to the noise of his own pulse he could feel heavily coursing through his body. His limbs trembled as he sat there, holding onto her, eyes closed, panting to catch his breath. “What… what’s this then… why…” He grit his teeth at his blunder of an attempt at words. “Why did you-“ He stopped short as her arms tightened, her jaw digging into the scales of his crown, as she curled around him, as if trying to protect him. 

“Don’t you ever say to me that you shouldn’t exist.”

He stilled at those words. He opened his eyes, staring in the direction of the wall across from them but vision unfocused. He tried to sift through the last few minutes, his efforts hindered by the haze of emotions and sensations that had assaulted his senses in such a short time. “Did… did I say that?” he whispered.

“Yes. You did,” Marianne answered, her voice vibrating through her chest into his cheek with utter surety. “And you will never say it again. Do you understand.” Her last statement rang more a command than a question.

He sat there, lungs finally taking satisfying breaths, pulse slowing to more appropriate levels, heat just barely starting to melt away under his own scales and said nothing. He did not have words. He did not know what to say. How could he rebut her command, her demand? Sure, he could refuse to say the words aloud, but it would not change a lifetime of experience that she had barely brushed the surface of understanding. He squeezed his lips shut, his brows drawing down in frustration.

“Unless you just want me to shag you silly in the library. I mean, I’m not opposed to it.”

His brows shot up and eyes went wide as everything else went out the window of his mind at that statement. An uncalled-for image floated behind his eyes and suddenly heat was flooding up his neck into his face and ears. “Oh bloody-mph!” He shifted to bury his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder, eliciting a satisfied giggle from his feisty, tough girl. “Ye’re too much, ye know tha’?” he mumbled. 

“You’ve mentioned it before,” she whispered.

“Heh… um… c-could ye… ah… move yer knee, please?”

“… Oh!”

**~*~**

The library had been their refuge for long while after that. Nearly an hour was spent with the two of them sitting side-by-side against the wall, leaning into each other, holding each other, and talking. Marianne had agreed to stop pushing after Bog finally settled down enough to explain that the subject was more than simply uncomfortable. He would tell her. Soon enough. He had admitted that it was something she would have learned about anyway. There was literally no way to avoid it. But it was not an easy thing for him to speak on. It never would be. So, he needed time. Especially after a near meltdown he had so poorly managed. She had smiled softly, picked his hand up and kissed his knuckles. 

While he had been relieved of her questioning on the first more-than-uncomfortable subject, he had fallen victim to her question on another. Ironically, directly related to the first. 

“This is the second time today that I’ve… uh… been a little _extra_ forward-“

“A little!?”

“You know what I mean!” She had retorted, flushing furiously. “And well… I can’t help but notice… you get… dark? When you get hot? Like… you’re blushing, but… dark?”

The confused tilt of her head and utterly lost expression to her face had been hilarious if not disarming. He had considered telling her that would have to wait as well, however, it was the most benign aspect of the whole situation. 

So, he had decided to show her. 

“You’ve never seen me bleed, Tough Girl.”

“Well, no, I haven’t.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

He had lifted his hands and, tilting his left palm to face towards her, had used his right thumb claw to slice the smallest of cuts right into the center of his palm. 

“Bog! What are you-”

His gaze had found her face then, and he had found himself unexpectedly taken off guard by the awed expression that had washed over her. He did not have to look back to his hand to see what she was so avidly fixated on, though he had been unable to comprehend at that moment why she was so enthralled. Pooling into his palm and sliding slowly along his skin was his blood, the point of this exercise. However, the remarkable part was not that he was bleeding. 

It was the color he was bleeding. 

Instead of the brilliant green or deep blue of goblin-kind, or the vibrant orangey-red of the fairy folk, his blood was a rich indigo color. The color was concentrated, as if it were absorbing all the light around it and reflecting it back in the form of an overly saturated hue that was not quite red, but not quite blue, but not quite both.

Marianne had ever-so-gently reached out to cradle his hand, leaning closer and moving it so, catching the light from different angles. “This is… amazing,” she had whispered, eyes having remained glued to his palm. 

He had been at a loss for words, simply observing her wonder. Though, when he had finally pulled his hand back, he could not help teasing her. “I’m glad you think so,” he had rumbled, low in his throat, making a point to keep eye contact as he tilted his head to the side to lick his own blood from his skin. Her flush of burning red had been reward enough, and the laughs and playfight on the floor had been refreshing after the whole ordeal of the last hour-and-a-half.

After that, they had finally decided to venture out from the library and Marianne had suggested a spar in the training courtyard. The two of them had not had one in a while and it was “The best way to let off restless energy!” she had said. He had agreed. In less than a day he had built up so much tension he needed to so _something_ to let it out. And while her offered romp in the library had been tempting, it was only a fleeting thought. He was not about to allow their first time truly intimate to be something as a result of his loss of emotional stability and her rash decisions.

A quick flight to the courtyard, a hasty clearing of the ring, and they were at each other like enemies on a battlefield. Lunges, parries, blocks, dodges, wide archs and low swings - they were a flurry of motion, wings catching the light, bodies twisting expertly around each other, and sparks flying in the air around them. Soon enough, they had drawn a crowd, both resident fairies and goblins from the entourage. Cheers and hollers rang out around them, and they had both caught wind of what had sounded suspiciously like bets being made. By the time they were done, they were both drenched in sweat, panting in the hot summer air, and completely worn out. 

It was only after they had utterly exhausted themselves, and all the gamblers had loudly complained about yet another draw, that Dawn had finally caught their attention. She _had_ been about to ask them to have tea with her and chat, but instead insisted they run off to their rooms and have a nap and clean up before dinner finally rolled around. Rather motherly of her they had both thought, but neither had argued the point, doing as told.

Dinner that night had been pleasant and even unexpectedly excitable, with a few of the goblins forgetting that table manners and dinner practices were much different in the Green Meadows from what they were in the Dark Forest. However, there were a few younger staff who had fallen victim to the infectious antics of tossing foodstuffs to one another and shouting tallies across the room. Even a few councilors had humored their guests, the most enthusiastic being Lady Nael, who was by far the best shot when it came to landing cabbage dumplings into the waiting mouth of each selected goblin emissary. Before too long, the banquet hall had been filled with raucous laughter and cheery dispositions. Even the stuffiest of the councilors were sporting hard-won smiles or bright twinkles in their eyes. And everyone cheered along when Bog and Dagda had somehow been talked into batting a dinner roll across the room at each other using butter knives.

When all was said and done, the banquet hall cleaned and cleared and all goodnights bidden, Bog and Marianne had walked to their chambers. She had insisted on walking him to the guest rooms that were his, even though he knew the way. He had let her, hand in hers the whole way. A chaste kiss and soft smiles had been exchanged at the door before he had used one clawed finger to lightly flick her nose and tell her to get some sleep. She had scoffed, flicking his right back and ordering him to _actually_ sleep, knowing his propensity to lie awake at night. His light huff of a laugh was like music to her hears. “Good night, Tough Girl,” he had said.

Marianne heaved a sigh, relishing the fragrant smell of her rose bed. It had been quite a rocky road of a day. 

She rolled over from her back to her stomach, splaying her wings out to either side as she looked to her window, observing how the moonlight colored the frame and floor. Her mind drifted, as it had several times already, to the events in the library. That burning curiosity would not leave her, and she wanted so badly to know what it was that Bog was so worked up over. She did not like seeing him going through the turmoil that this subject caused him. However, she could not quite fathom why it was affecting him in such a way. 

She had already gathered there was more to the story, more behind his reactions and feelings. His statement alone was proof of that. But only knowing what she did, it was hard to grasp what that “more” consisted of. Sure, the way halfbloods were treated in the Misty Rivers was deplorable, and he was one, so she knew the situation would naturally have a more profound impact on him. But his mood and words indicated far more than sympathy or even empathy. 

There was personal experience there.

However, that was hard for her to understand given the state of his own kingdom and subjects. Based on what she had seen so far, anyway, his people loved him. In their own round about way of showing it. She had yet to observe any ill will or malcontent, in fact, his people were happy and thriving and they served him willingly, helpfully, and without objection. There did not seem to be any discourse to be seen anywhere. 

_But what if it wasn’t always that way…_

Marianne bit her lip at the intrusive thought. Perhaps that was the answer. Perhaps Bog and his kingdom as a whole had run through the discourse already, years before she had ever met him or even thought to go adventuring in the Dark Forest. But how long ago? What would that have looked like? And if that were the case, then why- Marianne’s eyes widened and she sat up on her bed. A stillness came over her as new thoughts cascaded into her mind. Troubling thoughts. 

Why is he the only halfblood she had ever seen in the Dark Forest? Has he always been the only one? If he were, that would be simple. But what if he was not? What if there were others? If there were others, where were they now? 

A chill started to creep down her spine as the implications started to wash over her. Her mind reflexively started to call up every memorized facet of Bog, his physical form magnifying in her mind’s eye. From head to toe, she examined her mental image of her fierce goblin king. She quickly realized his very body told a story she had never thought to ask about. 

He was literally covered in scars. 

From the scales of his shoulder spurs, to the plates of his forearms, to the crevices of his carapace along his chest and abdomen, and even the large long plates along his thighs. Then there were the obvious lines sprawled across the planes of his face; across his chin arching up and splitting his bottom lip, thrashed across his brow and nose, and even the lines trailing underneath his eyes along his cheekbones. A stinging sensation started to assault Marianne’s eyes. These scars, the scars she had so ardently been committing to memory over the last few months were something that could mean more than just simple life as a goblin. 

_What has he been through?_ she thought. _What’s… happened to him? What don’t I know?_ She covered her mouth as her form started trembling. _Why have I never thought to ask?_ She closed her eyes, clenching them tightly. _When would anything have happened? Is it something we would even have record of on our side of the border? How far back do we…_ Her eyes snapped open. 

“I don’t even know how old he is…” Her whispered words were followed by tears streaking down her face. 

She stared at her pillow, her vision blurring as the weight of what she did not know started to hang heavy in her limbs. She closed her eyes once more, removing her hands from her mouth to hug herself, falling forward into her rose petals. “I’m so stupid…” she muttered. “I say I love him so much… but I know so little about him…” Her breath hitched and a whining sob escaped her. 

“What is wrong with me? How could I be so stupid?”

She held herself tighter, only the sound of her own soft crying answering her in the warm, night air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the read. Have a good day or night and a wonderful time~*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is gonna be alright! Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.  
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.

Soft grumbling left his lips as he trudged slowly along the path into the village in the warm morning air, the dawning sun just barely coloring the sky. 

Sunny rubbed his fingers into his eyes trying to get the tired out. As much as he would have liked a full sleep, he was far more comfortable avoiding the very people he usually loved waking up to. It was not as if he had managed to get much sleep anyway considering the conversation he had been forced into. 

Last night’s events crowded back into his brain for probably the thousandth time since they had transpired. He remembered the anxious dread on his mother’s face, the concern on his father’s. Part of him wanted to be angry with them, and really, he was. But another part of him felt a pang knowing they had reason to feel the way they did. Or they _would_ have reason, if things were really as they thought. 

“Why can’t they just listen to me,” he muttered once more, gripping his pack straps and yanking it up his back forcefully. 

“I just don’t feel like you’re safe around him, Sunny,” his mother had said.

“Ma, like I said, he’s not like that. I know he’s got a bit of a reputation, but-“

“Actions make a reputation, Son.” His father had looked at him in that stern way he had when dealing with his unruly boys.

“Sometimes a reputation can be wrong,” he had retorted. “I mean, look at Roland!”

“So you’re saying he’s not a bloodthirsty-“

He had refused to let his mother continue that statement. “Now hold on right there! He may be a fighter, he’s a king after all, he’s got to know how to do these things, but he ain’t no monster!”

“Son,” his father had dug his fingers into his eyes, frustration evident, “you’ve said yourself you were terrified of him.”

“Before I got to know him!” Sunny had looked to them both in disbelief. “Have either of you even _tried_ to have a conversation with him? Seriously, he’s a big softy under all those spikes!”

“He’s only _acting_ because it gets him what he wants,” his mother had insisted desperately. 

Sunny felt once again the pang of indignation that had welled last night at her words. _How can she even say that?_ he thought bitterly. He had been around Bog plenty these last three months. He had seen firsthand the way he acted around his people, around the elves, brownies, Marianne, Dawn, King Dagda and of course himself. The guy was grumpy and prone to yelling, but he was fair, kind, and even gentle in his own spikey way. And the way he looked at Marianne? Sunny couldn’t help a small smile. It looked so much like he was reflecting Sunny’s own affection towards Dawn. Like looking in a mirror… If his face had grown longer, paler, pointier and his eyes had changed color. 

Sunny’s smile faded and he huffed. “Won’t even get to know the guy and you wonder why I get so angry.” He could feel his face clouding, remembering how more than once his aggravation with them had been turned on its head and used against him. Both his mother and father suggesting that the reason for his indignance and frustration was because of the Bog King’s influence on him. As if he was somehow poisoning his mind. 

Sunny grit his teeth and clenched his fists as he stomped along one of the many bridges of the village’s high towers, halfway not remembering making it this far already. He barely paid any head to how it sashayed with his heavy steps. He stopped halfway and leaned against the sturdy rope, squeezing tightly to feel the full effect of the rough willow-leaf fibers against his fingers. He took a deep breath of the fresh morning air and closed his eyes, letting out the heavy sigh as he hung his head. 

“Why is it so hard to accept that he’s a good person?” he whispered. He opened his eyes to look up at the horizon, the sun’s rays peeking further into the sky. The deep navy was slowly giving way to brilliant azure. He smiled, knowing soon it would start to fade to the exact color of Dawn’s beautiful blue irises. He had always suspected that was why the late queen had named her that. Warmth tickled his insides and pricked at his cheeks as he thought about her. He leaned his forearms on the rope and simply stared at the sky, small goofy smile on his lips. 

“Don’t worry… about a thing… ‘cuz every little thing… is gonna be alright…” he mumbled lowly. He let out a small laugh and stood. He straightened up his pack straps again and continued along the bridge, a small hop in his step. 

“Woke up this morn’n, smiled at the rising sun- three little birds, pitched by my doorstep!” 

Sunny hopped from the last board of the bridge to the rough dirt of the landing, twirling on one foot.

“Singing _sweet_ songs, of melodies pure and true, saying- this is my message to yoo-oo-oou!”

He continued along the path as it turned to cobblestone, hopping along, singing in perfect tune, striking a move here and there. He let his thoughts of Dawn warm his heart. He let his experiences with Bog reinforce his determination. 

“Hey, don’t you worry, about a thing! ‘Cuz every little thing, is gonna be alright!”

Everything was going to be alright. It may take time. But Sunny was sure, absolutely sure, with enough hard work, enough experience, plenty of encouragement and just plain showing the truth, everything would be alright.

**~*~**

Marianne groaned at the insistent chirping above her. She pulled her petal blanket up and covered her head, burying her face in her pillow. The reprieve was short-lived as her handmaidens yanked the blanket completely off her, already having enough experience with their ward to know this was about the only way to get her off the bed. 

“Aaarggh,” Marianne growled into her pillow. She finally pushed up against the rose petals and looked around, sleep-filled eyes squinting in the sunlight. “Mmmaaahh,” she huffed dramatically and threw herself back to the petals. The chirping started up again and the sprites started tugging at her gown and her fingers. “Okaaayyy… okay, I’m up.” 

More chirping, more tugging. 

“Mmmmmmmm.”

She finally did get up but moved slowly. She swung her legs off the bed and stood, stretching, feeling unbelievably relieving cracks and pops in her back and joints. That was when soreness and tiny aches sprang to life, catching her attention. Marianne scrunched her eyes in confusion, leaning down to inspect the first of the sensations. Her knees were sore, her skin just under her kneecaps looking irritated. “Huh… weird.” She rubbed them absently before heading to the bathroom. She removed her sleeping gown without hesitation, the sprites so familiar with her body from when she was just a small child that she never gave it a second thought.

She froze upon turning to inspect her back. 

There were what looked like minute puncture wounds along her left hip, trailing along her skin just above her rear. There were also small puncture marks along her right side, trailing from her ribcage downward. There also looked to be reddish lines leading away from the tiny wounds. “Where did…” Marianne stared, ignoring the concerned chitter from her maids. “How? When?” Then, her eyes went wide as realization struck her. Somehow, she had not noticed during her shower after the spar yesterday, but she knew exactly what these were. She felt the flush color her cheeks and neck as she straitened, her wings shivering, as she brought her fists to her chest. She looked at her own eyes in the mirror as she remembered yesterday in the library. 

She was not sure what had come over her, how she had managed to be _so damn bold_. Perhaps it was frustration at seeing Bog so caught up in himself, perhaps it was the immediate fury at hearing him say those words about himself. Whatever it was, she had felt the urge hit her like an animal instinct and she had allowed it full reign. She bit her lip as she remembered the feel of his lips under her own, the hitches in his breath and moans as she forced her tongue into his mouth and held him tightly. The way he had fallen, literally, at her touch. How he held her to him, how he growled and groaned and gasped. The sound of his voice when he had asked her to stop. 

Marianne took a deep breath as she remembered to breathe. She looked at herself in the mirror, wings ridged and shivering lightly, ears curling tightly at their ends… her flushed skin. She closed her eyes. 

“Out.” She pointed to the doorway, listening as Lily, Rosey and Tulip chattered in confusion. “I’m gonna take a bath and I want to be alone for a bit, out you go!” she insisted, turning her back to them and flitting her wings lightly. “Please get my clothes ready for the day- thank you!” she called behind her as they fluttered out and closed the door. 

When the door latched, she took another deep breath and walked to the tub, polished pink granite carved to look like an upturned, cupped rose petal. She reached to the spicket, pulling the right lever down completely and the left one down a fourth of the way, releasing water from the pressured piping, hot water mixing with just the right amount of cold water to create her preferred temperature. She chewed on her lip as she watched the water start to fill. She was almost painfully aware of the ache between her legs, very different from the pinpricks along her sides and back and the soreness under her knees. “I need to get ahold of myself,” she whispered, running her hands over her face. “I don’t even know what I’m doing.” 

True, she had gotten good at kissing, that much she knew. But she knew she was lacking in any other department as far as anything intimate was concerned. Though, part of her was rather proud she had never given much of herself to Roland, another part of her was concerned about what that meant when attempting anything with Bog. She was good at acting, and again, she knew she was damn good at kissing, but… She wanted to do so much more. It was just, she had never _done_ anything more. Would she be able to when the time came? Would she be afraid when anything really intense started up? 

She stepped into the perfectly heated water, humming lightly as she sank in, letting her wings drape out on either side of the tub. The pinpricks along her skin stung lightly and another thought occurred to her. 

Would it hurt?

She felt her body betraying her as she thought about his claws and his rough armor. Her mind considered what that could do to her much softer skin, while her body seemed to find the idea exhilarating. Her mind then started to wander to other parts of his body and she felt heat pool in her cheeks and… elsewhere. 

_I don’t even know what he… what he looks like…_ She bit her lip again as she leaned forward, raising the levers to turn the water off. The heat of the water was not helping as her mind drifted. 

There had been times before, not just yesterday, when it seemed he would have some sort of reaction and would make a point to hide his southern regions. Not that she could see any difference even when she did manage to sneak a peek. Even yesterday in the library, when he had asked her to move her knee, she had managed the briefest of glimpses. It had been barely a split second, but she had not seen anything different than what was normally to be seen: A whole lot of nothing. Oh, she knew something was there. But she still had yet to see anything. Which was normal, so she had been informed. 

In her time spent with the goblin-folk, she had been more than a little curious and confused in certain things. After a while, she had found an unlikely conversation partner in Stuff. The little she-goblin was rather blunt and straightforward with talking about such things. Marianne had not been so blunt in her questions, but the conversation had opened one day when she had admitted it was hard for her to sometimes tell the difference between male and female goblins. Stuff had scoffed in her amused way and remarked that she should be happy she did not have to spend much time with older goblins who let everything “hang out”. Her befuddlement had not been lost on the small goblin and Stuff had eyed her suspiciously before asking “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”. Marianne had simply shrugged. 

Stuff had taken it upon herself at that point to lecture the unknowing fairy girl about goblin anatomy, Marianne following along, still helping with the construction efforts, as this was back while they were still building the new castle. Marianne had listened with rapt attention as Stuff explained that goblins, no matter their type- trolls, undines, sprites, hobs, amphines- were internal. If they were males, their members retracted into them, hidden in a fleshy internal pouch of sorts that closed tightly so nothing got in and their member did not just slip out. If they were females, their sensitive parts were enclosed in a similar way, the pouch tight and protective over their parts until they became active and it would retract back, exposing them for touching and opening up their entrance for the _fun_. Marianne had blushed furiously at Stuff’s candid way of explaining but was never-the-less thankful for it. Especially, when Stuff continued on to say that was why most goblins did not wear clothing. Not only were their hides tough enough as it was, making clothing and armor generally unnecessary, but they were not really naked in the sense that fairies and elves seemed to consider nakedness. A goblin was only truly naked when uncovered, or “hanging out” as she called it. Clothing was usually reserved for elders, well experienced mothers, or those who simply could not keep themselves in. Marianne had pondered those words only to gasp and blurt out a question of what goblins thought of fairies and elves then, since they all wore clothes, all the time. She had been relieved to hear Stuff laugh heartily and shoo her reservations away, noting that goblins were well enough aware of the anatomical differences. And even if some were not, clothing was still a choice and there were some goblins who wore clothing for traditional or ceremonial purposes, or just because they wanted to. There were even whole clans who wore clothes strictly by choice alone. So, no goblin should really care much, and even if they did, it was easy enough to explain. 

Marianne chewed on her lip absentmindedly, thinking back on Stuff’s words, and trying to simultaneously visualize but not visualize how her knowledge of goblin anatomy would look on her certain someone. She took a breath and huffed, groaning loudly. “I am horrible,” she uttered, leaning back in the tub. She adjusted her wings to lay more comfortably over the tub’s rim. 

_I’m so stupid…_

Her brows drew down as her words from last night echoed in her mind. Her body’s ardor faded as they melted in. She glared at the water as if it were to blame as her self-loathing made its way back. _All the things I don’t know,_ she muttered in her mind. 

She sat back up and started bathing in earnest, scrubbing a little too hard on her skin and digging her nails a little too roughly into her scalp. She had managed to keep her mind at a reasonable level of “not gonna think about it” throughout. Even when she pulled the drain plug and grabbed a silkworm towel, rubbing the material harshly over her skin and hair. She huffed angrily, frustration creeping into her mind as she flung the bathroom door open.

“Marianne!”

“WHA!!”

Marianne slammed the door shut, heart racing as she leaned against it. She then opened it to peek out. “Dawn! What are you doing?!” she hissed loudly. 

“Checking on you, silly!” Dawn chirped, not even batting an eye. “I would have thought you’d be up and ready by now.”

Marianne groaned, wrapping the towel around her, tucking the edges tightly and nestling her wings against it before finally exiting the bathroom. “Well, not all of us are such morning-birds, you know,” she grumbled. 

“Pfft, you say that like you never get up on time,” Dawn retorted, examining the dress laid out on the bed, the same one from yesterday, freshly pressed and clean, ready for a new day.

Marianne rolled her eyes and simply started for her vanity, her internal conflict still heavy despite her best efforts. She went to sit, barely looking at herself in the mirror, and grabbed her comb, brushing through the short locks of her still damp hair.

“Soooo, what happened to your dress?”

“What do you mean?” she asked monotonously, going through the motions of combing as her handmaids started prepping her face cream and eyeshadow. 

“There _seems_ to be little holes in the material along the back here…”

Marianne went stiff, arms frozen in place. Her handmaidens looked at her with questioning gazes as she slowly brought her eyes up to look at Dawn through he mirror. 

Dawn had the smuggest smirk on that pretty little face of hers that Marianne had ever seen in all the years she had known her sister. She took a breath and barely had time to open her mouth before Dawn sprang to her side. 

“OOOOO!! You and Boggy got a little feistyyyyy!”

“Dawn!”

“Oh, don’t bother denying it! Did you have fun?” Dawn leaned forward over the vanity, planting her elbows on the surface and resting her face in her palms. 

“Dawn, seriously-“

“Was it before or after the spar? Because you two were pretty absorbed in that-“

“Dawn!?”

“Oh, I know! It was last night after dinner!”

“DAWN!!”

Dawn promptly closed her mouth and looked at Marianne with wide, surprised eyes. 

Marianne was sitting tense on the stool, facing her with one hand clawed like she wanted to strangle her and the other gripping her comb tightly enough that she was sure she had heard it crack. She stared wild-eyed at Dawn and wanted for all the world to be angry at her sister. But, as she sighed, she knew that was a pointless desire. She could not be angry with her sister just being… well, herself. There was no one to be angry at but herself, anyway. And not even for any reason Dawn was yet aware of. She turned, feeling herself slump as she leaned her elbows on the vanity, tossing the comb down as she lowered her face into her hands. 

“Marianne? What’s wrong?”

Dawn’s concern cut like a knife and her hardly effective attempts at keeping her emotions at bay started melting away. She shook her head. 

“Marianne, what happened?” Dawn’s hand was on her shoulder, her other brushing nimble fingers over her own. “Did- did something bad happen?”

The anxiety rising in Dawn’s voice forced her words. “No-no, no, nothing… nothing bad happened, Dawn.” She knew it was not entirely true, but she knew where Dawn’s thoughts were starting to drift and she could not let her think that. “Nothing bad, it was all… it was… we were,” she became aware of the tremble in her voice and the stinging in her eyes was adding further to her frustration, “we had a great time. Too good.” She bit her tongue, not sure how that last sentence would translate to her younger sister, but not quite sure how to rectify it either. 

“Well… then what’s wrong?” Dawn asked softly, her hand trailing from one shoulder to the next, holding her close as she gripped her wrist with the other hand, running a thumb gently back and forth. 

Marianne breathed in, her body shaking with the effort before she let out a shuddering sigh. How could she explain to Dawn all the things that had run through her head last night, that were pounding their way back into her mind right now with more intense ferocity? She certainly could not tell her about what Lady Nael had told them, about Bog’s meltdown, about what it all meant, or could mean. She could not simply convey all of her anger, frustration, and feelings of inadequacy at how oblivious she truly was about the person she loved so much. “I don’t,” the words left her without permission and she shook her head against them. 

“It’s okay, Marianne,” Dawn soothed. “You can tell me. You can tell me anything, you know you can. Don’t… don’t shut me out. Lean on me,” she whispered. 

Suddenly, her little sister sounded so much older than her years. Marianne sniffled, feeling the wetness at her palms from the tears leaking out of her closed eyes. She shook her head again. “I… I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?”

“Everything!” Marianne finally shot out, removing her hands to look up at the ceiling, gesturing wildly. “So MUCH I just don’t know and it- it’s so- I can’t-“ she leaned forward, digging her fingers into her hair, “I can’t believe how much I don’t know!”

Dawn was quiet a moment. “Don’t know about what?”

“About BOG!” Marianne all but shouted, curling over her vanity as she stiffened her wings to her body, pulling at her hair as she grit her teeth. “I- I know next to nothing about him! I just realized it so suddenly that there’s so MUCH I don’t know! I don’t know what he’s been through, what he’s done during his kingship, what he did before it, how he got to where he is from where he was- I don’t even know how OLD he is, Dawn!” She felt the tears falling down her nose and shook her head, a small sob escaping her as she cringed further into herself. “I can’t believe how much I don’t know, but I say I love him, and I mean it, I do, but I feel so dumb! So stupid, cuz how can I know so little about the man I love so much!”

She was quiet then, save for her shuddering breaths rattling out of her with her small sobs. She continued to cry, feeling an awful lot as if she was wallowing as Dawn continued to hold her, one hand gliding up and down her arm as the other held fast at her wrist, thumb still circling in soothing motions. 

Dawn’s low, almost motherly chuckle broke the silence. “Silly,” she said softly. “Of course, you don’t know much about him. It’s not like you grew up with him.”

Marianne gasped lightly, lifting her head a fraction. “What?” she asked, voice thick from her crying. 

“You two only met three months ago,” Dawn stated, voice gentle but tone matter-of-fact. “Of course, you don’t know much about him. And he doesn’t know any more about you, does he?”

Marianne lifted her head fully, looking at the mirror and catching Dawn’s big blue eyes, looking at her with the softest expression. She glanced away, back to her fingers clawed up in front of her face. “I… well…”

Dawn giggled, a lower, calmer noise than usual. “Think about it. Sunny and I have known each other since we were four, so we know everything about each other. We’ve spent almost every day with each other since we were so little, of course we know each other like the backs of our hands!”

“I’ve known Sunny as long as you have,” Marianne responded indignantly, rubbing her face with her hands.

Dawn giggled again. “Yeah, but that’s not the point!” She reached to the side and grabbed one of the spidersilk handkerchiefs from the far end of Marianne’s vanity. Instead of handing it to Marianne she started wiping her face with it, looking for all the world like a mother comforting her child. “The point is, you and Bog don’t know everything about teach other, but that’s okay. You just have to learn about each other, in a way that a couple like Sunny and I never have to.” She smiled sweetly as she looked Marianne in the eyes. “And the best part?”

Marianne looked at Dawn, reeling from how much maturity her little sister had suddenly developed. “What’s the best part?” she asked in a small voice.

Dawn beamed. “You already love him for _who he is!_ What he’s been through, what he’s done, is important, yeah, and you’ll find all that out, but you know who he is as a person and that’s what makes you love him so much! Not all the things you don’t know yet.” She finally looked away, removing both her hands to fiddle with the kerchief. “I mean, take me and Sunny. I _do_ know what he’s been through, what he’s done, but I still love him for _who he is_. Nothing will change that.” She looked up to Marianne, her baby-blues shining. “And it’ll be the same for you and Bog, even when you do learn all that stuff you want to know.”

Marianne simply stared. _When did you grow up so much?_ she thought. A fresh wave of tears assaulted her eyes, but they were distinctly more uplifting than the previous set. “Oh, Dawn!” She lunged forward, wrapping Dawn in her arms and holding tight, smiling broadly as her sister giggled and returned her embrace. “You’ve gotten so old!” she croaked.

“Hey!” 

Dawn pinched her right at the wing joint and she giggled, holding her tighter, ruffling her dandelion fluff hair, eliciting a responding giggle. They sat there for a while, holding onto each other, Dawn humming slightly as Marianne finally felt her nerves settling down and her eyes ceasing their water flow. 

“Is that why you forgave Sunny so quickly?” Marianne asked suddenly. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say I forgave him quickly,” Dawn responded with a mischievous tone.

Marianne, almost reluctantly, released her hold, leaning back as Dawn looked at her with a smirk. “Sure seemed like it when you found out about his involvement,” she mused, wiping at her eyes. 

Dawn snorted, raising the kerchief to once again dab under her sister’s eyes. “Yeah, well. He’s had to make it up to me, make no mistake. I told him he’d have to earn my trust again.” Then her face melted into a softer expression. “But I couldn’t stay too mad at him. Because, well,” she shrugged, gaze meeting her sister’s, “like I said. I know him. I know who he is. And I know he didn’t do it with any real bad intentions. He made a mistake.” She lowered her hands, looking at the cloth in her fingers, running her thumbs over the silky fabric. “He’s always had a hard time talking about his emotions, how he really feels, I just never realized that it was _especially_ hard when it came to me. And… he was afraid. Afraid to lose what we already had but just wanted to express how he felt and wanted so badly that I would feel the same.” She took a deep breath and sighed it out slowly. “He knows how wrong it was, how wrong it would have been. I can see the regret in his face when he thinks about it, the way he flinches when it’s brought up. The way he still beats himself up over it, even though we both know he would _never_ do something like that ever again.” 

Dawn looked back up, a small smile on her face. “He made a mistake. He’s admitted that. He’s apologized for it. He’s trying to do what he can to make it better. And he would never do it again.” She shrugged. “That’s good enough for me,” she said, eyes unfocused as she looked at the vanity in front of her, that small smile lighting up the room like a tiny sun. 

Marianne could not help a small smile too. “Because that’s who he is. And that’s good enough.”

“More than good enough,” Dawn looked at her brightly. “It’s perfect!”

Marianne let out a soft laugh, her own gaze drifting somewhere other than her room. “Yeah… it’s perfect.”

Lily, Rosey, and Tulip sighed, not even attempting to hide their endearment. 

“So, you gonna tell me all the detes on you and Boggy’s feisty session?”

“DAWN!?”

**~*~**

Dagda’s office was not what Bog expected, and each time he saw it, it still struck him odd. Though, it was not unpleasant.

A rather round room, like most of the rooms in the Green Meadow’s castle, the space was broken up by furniture placed strategically to give almost a homey feel to the area. The center was mostly open except for a large, oval oak coffee table with three armchairs placed around it. Two matching armchairs sat off to the left in front of a fireplace that was currently unlit; he did not fail to notice a liquor cabinet next to the fireplace, stocked with several clean crystal glasses. Dagda’s desk sat at the farthest end of the room in front of the large ornate windows, allowing as much light to shine onto whatever important documents might be residing upon the desk’s top. There were several cabinets along the walls, a few of which could be guessed as to their usage, while others were conspicuously hard to deduce purpose from simply looking. Along the tall walls trailing up to the carved rock ceiling many items were hung such as banisters, old weapons, or paintings. The whole impression of the space was warm and lived-in and did not strike as a location to entertain official guests. 

Bog looked to Dagda, who had already retreated to his desk, fiddling around in one of the larger bottom drawers. “Have I mentioned I like your office,” he commented cordially, coming to stand at the front of the desk as he leaned against his staff.

Dagda chuckled lightly. “You have, and I’m glad someone does. I’ve been told multiple times it’s too busy in here, but as far as I see it, my office, my rules.” He stood straight, holding in his hand a large bottle of snapdragon rum. 

Bog’s brows shot up as he eyed the orange liquid. “Rather soon in the day for that, eh?” he asked, a laugh escaping him despite his best efforts. He knew _he_ was ready for a shot, but he had expected Dagda to be a little more comfortable with the situation. 

Dagda smiled and shook his head, shooting a look at the younger king. “This is for later. King Onyx isn’t particular on his alcohol, but snapdragon rum is his favorite, even if he won’t admit it aloud.”

Bog quirked a smile at that. “So, you know him well?” he ventured.

“Oh yes,” Dagda answered, walking from around his desk towards the fireplace. “Onyx and I have known each other for forty years now. Well…” he paused, tilting his head thoughtfully as he stared at the bottle, “More. More than forty years actually.”

“Long time,” Bog summarized. 

“Right,” Dagda said, smile in his voice. He placed the bottle atop the liquor cabinet before turning to walk back to Bog, motioning towards one of the chairs by the coffee table. “I’ve dealt with Onyx and his court for the entirety of my time as King of the Green Meadows. As such,” he sat himself, eyes averted to the table with their respective morning drinks on it, “I wanted to have a word with you before they arrived.” His words had become careful, his tone evened.

Bog sat, folding himself into the too-small-for-him chair, eyes never leaving Dagda. He was curious to know if Dagda would say as much as Lady Nael had, or perhaps even more. After the admission of several decades of friendship, there was no doubt Dagda was aware of the halfblood situation of the Misty Rivers. The question was how much forewarning was he willing to give to his newest ally? The older king looked up sharply and Bog was suddenly aware of a shift in his demeanor. 

Dagda leaned forward, resting his forearms to his knees, threading his fingers together. He averted his eyes once again, eyes aimed but not focused on some point in front of him. “There are a few things I want you to be aware of Bog.”

“I’m listening,” Bog said a little too quickly. 

“First… just because King Onyx and I are practically brothers, does not mean that his _court_ cares about our political ties.”

Bog narrowed his eyes. “Is that so?” he asked, keeping his tone even. 

“Yes,” Dagda affirmed. He glanced up to Bog. “How much do you know of the Misty Rivers, exactly?”

Bog took a measured breath, keeping his grip loose on his staff. “I’ve been told some things.”

Dagda stared at him for a moment before the corner of his mouth quirked up. “By a violet-eyed fairy, I wonder?”

Bog had to physically resist the urge to show his surprise. However, his silence seemed to have said enough. 

Dagda lowered his gaze and reached for his coffee, holding in his hands and staring at the liquid. “I’m sure she’s told you more than enough, then.” He chuckled. “Didn’t really expect someone else to do my job for me.” 

Bog was not lost on the fact that the laugh and his words were distinctly rueful in tone. “She told me a fair amount,” he conceded. Then, his eyes went wide and his grip on his staff tightened. _Wait…_ “Dagda?” Emerald green eyes darted up to meet his gaze. Bog narrowed his own and could not help but lean forward, his realization washing over him like tidal wave. “Are you telling me you… you’ve known what I am? Since you first saw me?” 

Dagda held his gaze for a few moments before a sigh escaped him. His eyes dropped down to the dark liquid in his cup. “Yes, Bog. I know what you are.”

Bog was silent, staring at the other king as a mixture of emotions he could not quite name swirled in his chest. He looked to his own provided cup, coming up short on exactly what he wanted to say or ask. “… you-“

“If you remember, I had other things on my mind when I saw you for the very first time three months ago,” Dagda cut him off, finally taking a sip of his coffee. 

Bog stared once again, and once again, words failed him.

Dagda leaned back, resting his cup on the arm of his chair. “The Dark Forest has been isolated from the rest of the world for, well…” he tilted his head, brows creasing in thought, “for as long as I can remember. Sure, minor altercations or agreements have been made with other kingdoms here and there, even small bouts of trade here with the elves and forest folk, but the royal line of the Dark Forest has not been seen in generations.” He looked to Bog with a somber expression. “Even any communications done directly with your family have been done via letter alone, only the royal seal marking their authenticity. There was no reason for anyone to suspect that the ruling line of the Dark Forest has been halfblood this whole time.”

Bog allowed his gaze to fall, thinking over Dagda’s words. He had a point.

Bog could not remember once that his father before him had personally attended to any dealings outside the Forest. And he had never been told of any excursions of his grandmother or great grandfather before him. The Dark Forest had kept to itself for the better part of present history, its own little world among the greater world. Goblins were not looked down upon by the other kingdoms, per se, but in general simply kept to themselves. It was easier that way, less complicated, and far less dangerous. Even he had not had any desire to pursue alliances or agreements during his rein, the only real contact with the rest of the kingdoms coming from border disputes, altercations _at_ the borders, and in more recent times, the situation with Sugar Plum and the primroses. His crashing of the elves’ Spring Festival only three months ago had been the first time he had personally set foot so far out of his own kingdom. Otherwise, he had fallen in line with the standard policy since before he was born: keep his people in and safe, everyone else out and away. 

“Mmm,” he managed, gaze still unfocused on the table. 

Dagda chuckled. “Even so, it makes no difference to me.”

Bog looked up to see Dagda looking to the far wall, free hand situated under his jaw. “Oh?” Bog quirked a brow and a spark of humor came over him. “One wouldn’t have thought as much with the way you acted seeing your daughters’ respective partner choices the first time.” 

Dagda straightened instantly and pointed an accusatory finger at him, however the brightness in his eyes belayed any sternness. “You know what that was about, and don’t you act any different!”

Bog all out grinned, the barely held back smile on Dagda’s face infectious. “Yes, I know _now_ ,” he retorted, finally reaching out to his own coffee, his large hand enveloping the smaller fairy porcelain. 

Dagda laughed, his serious demeanor melting away. “I was genuinely confused when Sunny kept acting fearful around me when he never had before. Sure, I was surprised,” he shrugged, “Dawn had never batted an eye in an elf’s direction previous to that, Sunny or anyone else, but the sight of seeing her,” here he cringed, his face almost comically grimaced, “nnngg- you know!”

A low rumble of a chuckle left Bog’s lips before he took a sip of his coffee, pleasantly surprised to taste that the kitchen staff remembered how he liked it- at least while he stayed in the Green Meadows. The sweet orchid nectar warmed his insides nearly as much as the coffee did. He bit back a hum of satisfaction. “Being a fairy, this aversion is hilarious, you know,” he chided with a smirk.

“Oh, keep it to yourself, Mr. ‘Ban on Love’,” Dagda shot, grinning as he nursed his own cup. 

Bog shook his head. Finding out that a king of fairies, of _fairies_ , suffered a mild revulsion to public displays of affection had been so sidesplittingly funny that he had actually managed to laugh himself onto the floor. He still had no regrets, as the look on Dagda’s face had been worth every second. Though, he still was not sure how that pared with Dagda’s appreciation for singing one’s affections into public view, but somehow the juxtaposition made the whole situation that much more comical. 

“You think I’m bad, you wait until you meet Onyx,” Dagda commented. 

Bog nearly spit his coffee out. “Oh no! Not another affection-hater!” he responded in mock horror.

Dagda scoffed, grin wide as his eyes darted across the room again. “Oh, I wouldn’t call him that. He’s more of a mountain of ice refusing to melt on a desert plateau.”

Bog raised a brow. “Oh? How so?” he prodded, curiosity now thoroughly peeked. 

Dagda took a deep breath. He rested his coffee cup to the arm of the chair again and tapped his thumb against it, eyes focused on some point along the far wall. “Well. The best way I can describe it is he is a very stoic individual. Now, he _can_ be expressive, but even when he is, he is rather… muted, you could say. The only time he ever really lets go is when you get enough alcohol in him. _Those_ are fun nights,” he said with a smirk. 

Bog tilted his head. “I’m sure his queen appreciates that,” he joked. He then felt his breath catch as he realized how that statement could come across _. I meant about him not showing emotions!_ he screamed into his head, the words flailing somewhere between his mind and his mouth. 

Dagda’s expression dropped, however, it was a ruefulness that came over him as opposed to offence. “He doesn’t have one,” he said. 

“Oh…” Bog looked away. “I… sorry-“

“Oh, nothing to be sorry about,” Dagda interrupted, waving a hand. “She tried, but, according to him, she just wasn’t coping well with being a queen. It was best for both of them.”

“Oh,” Bog said again. “So, they divorced?” _Well, what else did they do, fight to the death?_ he scolded himself.

“Yeah,” Dagda answered simply, swirling his coffee in his cup. “It wasn’t a long marriage, only eight years. But even after more than twenty years now he’s never remarried.” He took another sup, expression thoughtful. “I never really understood why she didn’t want to stay around to help raise their son, though,” he added, almost as an afterthought. 

Bog’s brows creased at that. “If she wasn’t of a noble family, perhaps even the affiliation was too heavy for her,” he mused. 

Dagda nodded. “Perhaps. She seemed suited to it though, as far as I could tell. And she always had a friend in Vivian, who was of the same situation.”

Bog stayed quiet at the mention of Dagda’s late queen. He had heard stories of her from Marianne and Dawn and even a few from Sunny. They had described her as elegant, beautiful, compassionate, and quite capable in a position she had had no training for. “Not everyone takes to it I suppose,” he muttered, his thoughts drifting to his own mother, who had adjusted to a higher social class almost too well. 

Dagda’s sigh caught his attention. “Ah well. No matter at this point. He’s got me, and I’ve got him. He and I have tackled far worse together than missing a significant other in our lives,” he said with a smile, draining the last of his coffee. 

Bog hummed a small laugh. “Practically brothers, eh?” he mentioned, draining the last of his cup as well.

Dagda grinned at that. “Yeah, that’s the best way to put it,” he said, standing, his eyes darting to the far wall. 

Bog suddenly realized that Dagda’s gaze had been drawn to the same exact spot of wall during their conversation, seemingly while reminiscing about the King of the Misty Rivers. His own eyes darted to wall, curiosity tickling his mind as to what Dagda could not seem to keep his eyes off of.

“Bog.”

He whipped his gaze back to the older king, Dagda gesturing for him to stand. He did so, leaning down as a look of seriousness melted back into Dagda’s expression. 

Dagda closed the distance between them, resting a hand on his shoulder spurs as he seemed to contemplate his next words. He then looked up, emerald gaze shining with an intensity that seemed out of place. “I just want you to understand something.”

Bog nodded, his grip on his staff tightening at the sudden about-face. 

“No matter what the Court Council of the Misty Rivers says or does, King Onyx is on our side.”

Bog’s brows drew down as he considered Dagda’s words. 

There was so much more to that statement than the mere words said aloud. 

He opened his mouth to question his fellow king but was cut off by Dagda’s hand roughly patting at his scales. 

“Time to get to it. We haven’t got too much longer before they get here,” Dagda said, already moving around the table. 

Bog stood there dumbly for a moment, feeling weighted down by the anxiety brought on by his lack of understanding. _What… what is going on?_ he thought, unable to force the words from his mouth. He looked up, subconsciously searching the far wall for what he thought Dagda had been looking at, but unable to find anything that caught his attention. He then took a deep breath, and sighed it out, leaning down to place his cup back onto the saucer. 

_What, exactly, am I getting into?_

**~*~**

Marianne flew at a steady pace through the corridors, Dawn flying close behind. She was trying _not_ to break out into a speed race to the front courtyard but the anxiety in her stomach was making the task difficult. 

She had not seen Bog this morning, as she had been too busy getting ready with Dawn after having overslept. For some reason, the absence of at least saying “good morning” was driving her crazy, as if he was fully aware of her musings from the night before and this morning and was holding her private admissions against her. She knew she was being absolutely ridiculous, but her anxiety, it seemed, did not care. 

She took another deep breath, trying to calm her nerves as her wings ached with unreleased tension _. I need to get a hold of myself,_ she thought. _Put on your face, get a grip, you’ve got work to do!_ she pepped, not for the first time so far. She gripped her sword, the weapon polished and ready at her side. She smiled, the comfort of having her own sword in her hand bringing mild relief. She remembered fondly how it had been found in the remains of Bog’s old castle, mangled and warped but repairable. Bog had had his own blacksmiths attend to the repair, adding in etchings of thorns and midnight flowers along the blade as a surprise. She smiled, the memory warming her heart. _Its gonna be alright_ , she thought to herself. _Just remember what Dawn said._ _Its just fine, I’m fine,_ she assured herself. _Everything’s gonna be alright._

They turned the last corner and her smile turned into a grin. 

There he was, in the shadow of the doorway, standing with her father and Sunny, the Green Meadows’ royal guard and the Dark Forest delegates nearby. His tall form and long limbs were silhouetted against the light from outside, the amber from his staff glowing softly. Whether from nerves or simple excitement she sped up instead of calling out and Bog only noticed her flight to him a split second before she was on him. 

His eyes went wide, and he crouched. “Whoa!”

Marianne could not resist a giggle as she buffeted her wings forward, stopping to drop in front of him instead of tackling him outright. “Well hello there? Did I scare the mighty Bog King?” she asked, sounding far more confident than she felt.

“What? No!” He retorted quickly, standing tall once again with a snap to attention. His smile slipped, however, and he ran his free hand over the back of his neck. “Well, _scare_ might not be the right word.”

Marianne smirked, fisting her hands to her hips. “I wouldn’t say that to your feisty fairy princess, your Majesty,” she chided. 

He let out a chuckle, his smile turning to a grin. He opened his mouth to say something before Dagda cut him off.

“Now keep it calm you two, we have things to do today,” he said, the warning note in his voice clashing with the mischievous glint in his eyes.

They both laughed at that, looking down and away as color graced their cheeks. 

“Sunny! Ohmygosh- you look great!”

Several gazes turned to the elf and younger princess, Dawn kneeling with her hands clasped to her cheek as she admired her significant other. 

Sunny ducked his head, bashful smile on his lips as he crossed his arms behind his back. “I don’t know if I would say I look _great_ ,” he managed. 

“Oh shush!” Dawn leaned forward to pull Sunny’s shoulders up, forcing him to stand up straight as she smoothed the material of his overcoat over his shoulders, pulling his waistcoat down a tad. 

He wore a sky blue colored array, the same color as Dawn’s dress, consisting of tailored breeches and high-collared shirt, waistcoat, overcoat, and finished off with white mushroom leather boots and even a specially made hat designed to wrap around his head and hold his wild hair in place just as his ladybug cap did. Gold trim was strategically placed along the waistcoat and overcoat, and trimming the hat as well, which was embellished along the front with the royal crest. Much to Dawn’s words, he represented the rank of a royal consort quite well. 

Sunny smiled, still bashful, but standing up straighter at Dawn’s prodding. “Well, I’m glad I can look great for you,” he said meekly. 

“Oh, Sunny!” Dawn hugged him tightly, eliciting a surprised squeak. “You always look great to me!”

“You two keep it calm, too, please,” Dagda commented with a pleading note as he ran his fingers into his eyes. A round of snickers erupted, thought Dagda did not hush them, a small smile tugging at his own lips. 

Marianne glanced to Bog, who was looking at Dawn and Sunny with an almost brotherly bearing. She bit her lip lightly, moving to the side to see out the doorway. There still did not appear to be any indicator of the Misty Rivers entourage. “Hey, Bog?”

He gave her his attention instantly at her quiet mention of his name. “Yes?”

Marianne nudged her head behind her. “We have a few minutes I think, I wanna ask you something,” she whispered.

“Stay close,” Dagda cut in without turning to them. 

Marianne felt her face burn. “Dad!”

Dagda gave her a sidelong glance, smirk coloring his expression. “I’m still your father, so my ears are still fine-tuned, and that won’t be changing any time soon.” He nodded to them, urging them on. “Stay close. They’ll be here any time now.”

Marianne huffed lightly, grabbing Bog’s hand and dragging him down the hall a ways. She noticed he gripped her hand tightly and felt a swell of affection at the small pressure. She turned, satisfied that the rest of the party were several yards away. She stepped in front of him, looking up into his eyes from beneath her lashes. 

“Are you alright?” Bog asked quietly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. 

His concern chipped at the anxiety resting in her abdomen and she gave him a small smile. “I’m alright. I just… I had a quick question. Well, I have a lot of questions,” she glanced away, “but I wanted to start small. So, I wanted to just… you know, ask something… that I should probably already know,” she mumbled, the fingers of her free hand fiddling with a layer of her skirts. _Wow, I sound so diplomatic right now_ , she thought with a mental groan.

“Okay?”

She looked at his face again, seeing patient concern in his eyes. She smiled again, feeling the strain in her face. “So, um…” She took a deep breath. “So, Bog… how old are you?”

He stared. 

She stared. 

He continued to stare, frozen in place, eyes glued to hers. 

Just when she was about to blurt out it was a stupid question that he should just forget about and pretend it never happened, his face cracked with a smile and he let out a laugh, loud and clear, amusement thick in the noise. “What does that matter?” he asked.

She felt herself draw up as the flush crept back up her neck and into her face, but the genuine smile and carefree laughter from him worked wonders to drown her insecurities. She could not help a smile in return and looked away, running her free hand up the back of her neck. “Weellll, I mean, I just realized I, you know, never thought about it, and I figured its probably something I should know!” she said with a shrug. “I mean, its pretty basic, and I kinda- I mean-“

Bog cut her off by letting go of her hand to run the backs of his rough fingers over her cheek. “Is that gonna make a difference, Tough Girl?” he asked, his voice taking on a lower octave as he looked at her with suggestively narrowed eyes. 

Even with the well-played distractions, she could see the hint of real concern that he masked so well. 

She quickly grasped his hand. “No! I don’t care! It makes no difference to me,” she responded. She did avert her gaze, though, pressing his hand into her cheek more as she tried not to pout out her lips like an upset child. “I just feel kinda stupid not knowing,” she muttered. It was an overly simplified understatement considering the emotional barrage she had put herself through recently, however, she was certainly not going to let him know that if she could help it. 

He chuckled lightly, his hand retreating from hers only so he could drape his arm around her shoulders and hug her close. She gave into the hug gratefully, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her cheek to his chest. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he murmured against her hair, resting his lips to the top of her head. She could feel the smile and smiled herself, her insides warming pleasantly at how accepting he was of this oddity. “You are the smartest, most brilliant, and fiercest fairy I have ever met,” he reassured. 

It was her turn to chuckle, and she squeezed her arms lightly. “Are you just trying to avoid the question?” she asked playfully. 

He scoffed but then remained silent. She bit the inside of her lip, wondering if perhaps he may not actually want to answer. 

“I’m thirty-five.”

She was quiet a moment, taking in his soft words. _So… ten years older._ “Huh.” She then smiled again at the vibration of his snickering through his chest. 

“’Huh’?” he repeated, leaning back. “Not what you expected, Princess?” he asked playfully.

She moved only enough to rest her chin against his chest and look up at him. “I wouldn’t say that. Just taking it in,” she admitted. Her lips quirked. “I didn’t think we’d be an even number apart.”

He huffed a laugh out his nose. “Not even.”

She raised a brow and lifted her head, giving him a snarky look. “Oh really?” she retorted.

His lopsided grin flashed those crooked teeth. “I was born in the summer. You were born in winter. Not even.” He winked.

She huffed and disentangled one arm to swat at his chest. “A few months, ha – ha, very funny!” she shot with a giggle.

His responding laughter continued to melt her anxiety and she found the urge to kiss him hit her like a boulder. With her own grin she stood on her toes, twined her fingers around his neck and yanked him down. His little “Mmph!” of surprise was muffled by her lips and she moved deliberately, drawing out the moment as she tried to pool in as much of her affection as she could without getting heated. When she pulled back, she watched as his eyes opened slowly, as if he was savoring the memory of her lips against his. When he looked at her, his expression was open, his eyes unguarded. She smiled, running her hand up from his neck to caress his cheek with her thumb. 

“I love you,” she whispered.

He breathed in slowly, as if he could take in the very words she spoke, eyes never leaving hers. His expression turned soft and his fingers ran gently over her shoulder as he leaned closer, forehead touching hers. 

“I love you,” he whispered back. 

Her smile nearly hurt her face, her chest filled with the warm churning of their shared emotion, her anxiety pushed back into the dark pace from where it came. She heaved a small, contented sigh, closing her eyes to rest her forehead up to his. She stayed that way, taking in the feel of his arm around her shoulders, his breaths against her skin, his scaled brow resting atop hers. She felt she could cry. Though, this time, she knew if any tear did break through, it would be one of happiness. _Everything’s gonna be alright,_ she thought again. 

They stayed that way for a while, not keeping track of time, though they knew that minutes had to have passed as they stood. When they finally parted, their hands found each other again, fingers laced. Almost too slowly, they walked back towards the entryway, and almost a third of the way back to the others, the sound rang out. 

Marianne lifted her ears, listening as she felt Bog go tense at her side. 

The sound rang again, long, somewhere between a mid-tone and a low-tone, and even keeled.

“That’s them.” She looked to him, serious, but with a reassuring smile. “They use beetle horns.”

Bog glanced to her then back to the arches of the entrance. “Seems unnecessary to announce oneself that way,” he said, voice calm but shoulders rigid. 

Marianne shrugged. “Out here maybe, but this is a viable means of communication in their lands, with the mists obscuring views more often than not.”

Bog was quiet a moment. “Ah. Well, that would make more sense.”

Marianne let out a soft laugh, squeezing his hand lightly. “Come one. No use in hiding. King Onyx is our ally after all. I think everything will work out just fine, rocky expectations aside.”

Bog looked back to her, and she could see the weariness in his expression. She smiled again, hoping to imbue some of her hopefulness to him. He smiled back, a small, tight smile, but a smile nonetheless with that softness in his eyes that seemed reserved just for her. 

She stepped forward, and he stepped with her, the both of them walking in step with each other as they closed the remaining distance to the others.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm used to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.  
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.

Bog took a deep breath to ease the tension that seemed to melt so easily into his shoulders and back. Though, really, with the underwhelming view, he was hardly sure why he was so tense at all. 

He was not sure what he had been expecting, but a small collection of dark cloaked figures was not quite up to par with his imagination.

The Misty Rivers entourage was walking, their forms having slowly come into view along the main road leading from the northbound highway. No carriages, no mounts, flying or otherwise. They were walking. Not only that, but they appeared to be dressed for a cold winter as opposed to the hot summer day blazing around them. Fourteen figures, all dressed in long dark cloaks, hoods pulled up to cover their faces. They walked in a tight, rowed formation with three figures walking up front, two rows of four and a final row of three. 

Bog narrowed his eyes. In the brightness of the summer sun, he could see a distinct difference between one of the figures and the remaining thirteen. The one figure, standing second from the left in the first row of four, was noticeably taller than the rest, standing at least a handbreadth if not more so above the tallest of the others. And this figure’s cloak appeared to be a solid black, while the others appeared to wear a dark navy. The figures’ cloaks glinted along the edges, the black cloak trimmed with silver geometric designs that faintly resembled honeycombs, while the other figures’ cloaks were trimmed with silver lines, swirling and twisting, giving a slight impression of water ripples. 

He tore his eyes from the approaching wall of cloaks, glancing at Dagda to gauge if this was normal. His grip tightened on his staff as dread pooled in his stomach. His limbs spontaneously tingled with the barely suppressed urge to take a fighting stance.

Dagda’s expression was hard, his brows drawn down and his emerald eyes staring at the approaching figures as if they had committed some grave offence. His expression was tight, jaw clenched as he remained still as a statue. 

“Dagda,” Bog ventured in barely a hiss. The older king’s ear twitched towards him but nothing more. “Dagda,” Bog whispered more urgently, “what’s wrong?” he murmured, trying to keep the strain out of his voice.

Dagda took a deep breath through his nose, narrowing his eyes just a fraction. “That’s not Onyx,” he answered with his outward breath, barely loud enough to be heard. 

A sound to his right at Dagda’s hip caught his attention and Bog glanced to see Dagda’s hand had risen to his sword hilt, gripping it tightly. _When did he- how did I not notice he had his sword?_ Bog blinked rapidly to snap out of his surprise, glancing back to the still approaching figures. “What do we do?” he hissed quickly. 

“Nothing yet,” Dagda whispered back. “It could be his son.” 

Bog eyed the taller black-clad figure, his own eyes narrowing. “But?” he pushed under his breath. 

Dagda did not answer immediately, quiet long enough for Bog to look back at him from the corner of his eyes. He watched as the older king tilted his head up slightly, his eyes darting between the figures, his nostrils flaring in a concealed sigh. “Something isn’t right,” he breathed. 

Bog looked back to the figures, grip tight on his staff as he took a deep breath of his own. He was about to speak again when something caught his eye: a shadow on the ground and a corresponding flash in the sky. He looked up, about to tense into stance when Dagda’s hand caught his arm. 

“It’s the Royal and Court guards. They always fly above,” Dagda reassured, though his tone made it clear that his concern was still present. 

Bog clenched his teeth, biting back a growl. 

The figures finally reached the outer rim of the courtyard, saluted by the Green Meadows guard. Aside from the nods of their hooded heads, they showed no further acknowledgement, merely continued on to the castle steps. As they crossed halfway, the shadows that had been dotting the ground grew larger. Bog steeled himself as the Misty Rivers guards came into view as if diving for water, stopping themselves just before hitting the ground to hover and land on their feet. 

_Two guards, eh?_ Bog mused, examining the striking differences between the groups with weary curiosity.

Clearly, the seven-man unit situated to the left of the group, closest to the tall, black-clad figure was the Royal guard. They wore clothing of black and shades of grey, each interspersed with personalized armor selections such as thick leather gauntlets, purposely dulled metal shoulder guards, or vestments of chainmail – though, none wore helmets. Each carried a different weapon of choice, ranging from staff, halberd, short-sword and Bog swore he saw an axe peeking over the shoulder of the one of the larger solders in the back. The only singular standard piece among all of them was the waist sash they all wore, the darkest of black in color with the same honeycomb trim as was present on the cloak of the tall figure. The larger unit, fourteen men in total, to the right of the group could only be the Court guard. These solders wore suits of armor, though theirs seemed more streamlined and slim-fitted than those of the Green Meadows’ suits, having more moving parts along the abdomen to allow for better range of movement. They all carried the same weapons, a standard sword at their hips and a long-handled halberd in their hands, rested against their shoulders as they walked. The armor itself held a blue sheen and any cloth seen underneath was a faded navy color. These men also had a sash, crossed over the left shoulder of each individual, an intense deep navy with the same swirling trim pattern of the navy cloaked figures. 

The Court guard had their visors down, ominous enough when matched to the hoods of the figures they were escorting. Though, when Bog looked back to the Royal guard, he felt his stomach churn. 

They were all staring at him. 

Their expressions were unreadable, schooled by experience, but aside from quick glances to the goblins of his own entourage, all their eyes were on him. 

_Get a good look then_ , he growled mentally. He kept his back straight, form ridged as he stood next to Dagda in the shadow of the doorway. Then, a thought occurred to him. _If these men serve directly under the king, do they side with their sovereign?_ Before he could think any more on the question, the whole procession had reached the bottom of the steps. 

His attention was torn away as Dagda stepped down, raising his arms. “Good afternoon, King and Council,” he called cheerily, his voice carrying none of the concern he had clearly showed to Bog, “I hope the trip treated you well?” The guards came to attention as the figures stopped, almost in unison reaching up to lower their hoods. The front row separated, two standing on one side and one on the other while the black cloaked figure and the navy cloaked one directly to its right stepped forward. 

Bog’s eyes were immediately drawn to the tall figure as the black hood came down to reveal a young man. His skin was pale on his long, angular, cleanshaven face, his long hair was a rich black, glinting with a rainbow of colors in the sunlight under a silver coronal weaved around his head, a clear stone set in its center along his forehead. What drew his attention most, however, was the man’s eyes. His almond eyes were colored a brilliant crystal blue. Bog found himself blinking as he regarded him, an odd sense of familiarity creeping into his mind. 

“Greetings, King Dagda,” the man responded, voice smooth as he smiled. “The trip was well with us, as expected for this time of year,” he answered with a nod. 

“That is good to hear,” Dagda responded. “If I may, Prince Cole, where is King Onyx?” 

_Right to the point, eh?_ Bog thought, glancing to the older king. 

“Ah, yes,” Prince Cole sighed, “his presence has been required in attending to a border dispute. He asked me to take his place until he is able to break away.”

“I see,” Dagda responded. His remark was heavy, the barest hint of concern lacing the sound. “I did not receive any communication from him concerning this.”

“Your Majesty, if I may-“

Bog had only a split second of time to look at the man who had spoken next to the prince, taking in an older face with a short greying beard and similarly greying hair slicked back under some ornate cap, before theoretical lightning struck.

The man he had caught eyes with went wide-eyed and with practiced speed drew a short-sword from under his cloak, the other cloaked men and women doing the same, with the Court Guard coming to attention instantly. He took a defensive stance only to startle at Dagda’s arm thrown in front of him, right hand at his sword, and Marianne’s yell rang out amidst the harsh noises of swords drawing and armor scraping. Within the same second, Prince Cole shouted a command and suddenly swung a staff from under his cloak, the long, silvery metal seeming to sprout from out of nowhere. The prince’s swing came up to the councilman’s sword, knocking it up over his head as the Royal guard rushed forward – only to turn and take defensive stance on the castle steps, facing the members of the Misty Rivers entourage and the Court guard.

“WHAT do you think you are _doing!?_ ” Prince Cole’s voice carried through the courtyard and ricocheted off the castle walls as the commotion stopped nearly as quickly as it started.

“I would ask _you_ the _same!_ ” the older man thundered. “That-“

“Is the sovereign of the Dark Forest, unless you see any _other_ royals standing alongside his majesty Dagda and his daughters?” Prince Cole’s words were rushed, but his voice was strong with an unmistakable edge tailing it.

The councilman looked insulted and quickly looked over Cole’s shoulder, eyes darting back and forth across the platform of the stairs over the heads of the Royal guard. 

Bog only took that moment to check his sides. Marianne was next to him, sword drawn. Dagda was still in front of him, though now slightly to the side, allowing him to be seen more clearly – he noticed the older king’s hand still on his sword hilt. The Green Meadows guard was at attention, all with weapons on guard while his goblins stood in stance, ready to attack at his command. He could not see Dawn or Sunny, but he could hear them breathing somewhere close behind him, likely having been pushed back by Dagda’s captain. He turned his attention back to the scene in front of them, catching eyes once again with the councilman who started the mess. He narrowed his eyes and nearly bared his teeth when the flutter of Prince Cole turning towards him drew his gaze.

“That’s right, isn’t it?” the prince asked, sharp blue eyes leveled at equally sharp blue eyes. “ _You_ are the Bog King of the Dark Forest.” It was a statement, not a question as Cole tilted his head forward.

Bog let a growl get the better of him, the deep rumble vibrating through his chest. “Yes.” He stood straight, drawing up to his full height as he slammed his staff into the rock of the steps, the noise echoing off the walls. “ _I am_ the Bog King, rightful sovereign of the Dark Forest by birth and contest, ally to the Green Meadows Kingdom by choice.” He tilted his head downward, his narrowed eyes growing into a glare. “Is there a problem with that?” he nearly snarled, teeth baring as his wings rattled behind him in warning. 

Prince Cole’s eyes took on a strange gleam before a smile broke his face. “No, Sire.” He took a step forward then bowed low, crossing his free arm in front of himself as he held the staff at attention at his side. “I am Prince Cole of the Misty Rivers, speaking today for my father, King Onyx, sovereign by birth. And I assure you,” he stood, making eye contact, “we meant you no insult. I apologize for my council’s… behavior.” His tone had dropped as he spoke the last word, barely concealing very obvious distain as he tilted his head, evidently trying to convey his sincerity. 

Bog kept his eyes locked, gauging what he could see in the man’s face. It was… odd. The way the Misty Rivers’ prince looked back, as if trying to communicate something with his mind. 

Bog let out a huff of a breath and tilted his head up. No matter how sincere the prince was, he was hardly going to jump up and down with acceptance and brush this madness off like a case of someone jumping at the shadows.

That was when the idiot at the prince’s side decided to open his mouth again.

“It was never mentioned, King Dagda-“

Prince Coal’s motions were quick, turning to the older man while his hand twirled his staff effortlessly, its end striking one of the stone steps flinging a small array of sparks. He stood still as a statue, staff behind him, his white-knuckled grip on the implement unseen by the council. 

Whatever look was upon the prince’s face seemed to do the trick, as the indignant anger on the councilman’s face melted into a more constrained expression as his eyes darted to Dagda. “…that the dispute was going on at our border, because his Majesty did not wish to incite your concern.” His eyes remained glued to the older king, as if daring him to question what he had been about to _actually_ say. “It is more than a mere misunderstanding, however, it is not enough of an event to require _your ordinarily swift support_.” His last words sounded more like a thickly veiled insult than a simple statement and Bog felt his knuckles crack as he tightened his grip on his staff, knowing full well if it had been wood it would have shattered.

The audacity of this man!

Pulling a sword so carelessly without considering full details, practically slapping his king’s heir in the face with his attitude, and very _clearly_ throwing some sort of insinuation at the king who’s courtyard he was currently standing in! And to top it off, what he had been about to say was so obviously hanging in the air like a thick miasma, yet he did not show even a hint of shame.

It had not been mentioned that the ruler of the Dark Forest was a _halfblood._

If he had been younger and more reckless and far less inclined to care about delicate political situations, he would have jumped from the steps to put the man in his place with both fists and staff. As it were, he simply lowered his head, a glare burning into the side of the man’s face as the councilman stubbornly stared down King Dagda. 

“Of course,” Dagda replied, his expression and voice a tightly controlled front. “Why don’t you all take some time to refresh from your journey.” He finally turned away, motioning at his guards to stand down while beckoning the palace staff forward. “It must have been quite exhausting in the summer heat of the meadows. The servants will show you to your quarters and provide whatever drink or food you request. Please take your time, there is no need to rush. When you are all ready to convene simply send word via the stewards.” The entire time he had spoken, his smile had been pleasant and his gestures gracious. The only indicator of his true emotion was his eyes. 

Bog resisted the urge to swallow his nerves. 

He did not believe he had ever seen such a molten gleam in Dagda’s eyes in the short time he had known him personally. It was unsettling how well he contained what could only be observed as outright fury. 

Prince Cole’s motions stole his gaze from the older king as the younger prince gave a hand signal to his guard, the soldiers relaxing and filing off the stairs to stand at attention. “Thank you, your Majesty. That is most welcomed,” he responded, his eyes fixing meaningfully on the other king. 

“Agreed,” the councilman said, a simple wave to the other council members and the Court guard causing them to sheath their weapons or stand down. “Thank you, King Dagda.”

“Of Course,” Dagda nodded, before sweeping his arm to the servants and starting up the steps himself. 

Bog saw his other hand, kept out of sight from the Misty Rivers people, urging him back. He complied, allowing only a small growl to escape his throat as he turned. The sight of Marianne sheathing her own sword, fire in her eyes, brought a pleasant appreciation into his mind. He then caught sight of Dawn and Sunny, Dawn doing a very good job of standing tall and proud, her expression pleasant but her eyes nervous, while Sunny had his arms clasped behind his back and his lips closed into a thin line, looking for all the world like he might snap into an anxious puddle of mush at the next loud noise. Tense political situations were very new on both their lists of experiences it seemed.

While the Misty Rivers group was led up the steps and away into the castle, Dagda looked at Bog, the emerald of his eyes seeming to glow with an unseen flame. “Calm your people. Meet me in my office,” he whispered. 

Bog glanced to his own, seeing them eyeing him, the elders present doing so none-too-happily. “Understood,” he muttered. 

Dagda turned, closing the distance to Rex, his captain, and started a whispered conversation. 

Bog’s gaze fluttered to Marianne who looked at him with an expression of both anger and shame. He managed a small smile as he stepped to her, running his fingers up her arm. “No worries, Love. I’m used to it,” he said quietly. 

Marianne glared, darting her eyes around him to the retreating backs of the Misty Rivers entourage. “I don’t care. There is no excuse,” she managed in a tight, heated voice. 

He looked back, but his gaze drifted over the peoples from the other kingdom briefly before landing on Dagda once more. He could not help a narrowing of his eyes. 

There was more to this. Much more. And Dagda was going to come clean about it whether he wanted to or not.

**~*~**

“You just wait until your father hears about your actions!” Cerian hissed, barely contained rage boiling over as his face flushed, wings fluttering in agitation behind his back as his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

Prince Cole looked around the shared common room of the guest quarters with a flighty air. “Ah, and I’m sure he will be so pleased to hear about your actions towards another kingdom’s ruler.” He did not so much as look as the head of the council, instead stepping towards the center table to pick up the bottle of wine on display. “Yes, so diplomatic. Your skills are really a marvel,” he said, cheerful sarcasm saturating his voice

Councilor Cerian practically fumed, his teeth clenching so tightly the grating was heard throughout the room. “Listen here, you insubordinate little-“

“Ah!” Cole cut him off, crystal blue motes finally darting to the dark grey-black of the other man. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he tilted his head, the unmistakable shuffling of his captain standing at attention behind him. “What was that, Councilor?”

Cerian’s glare was like acid, boring into the bright, almost cheery eyes of the prince before slinking to the stonewall stoicism of the captain behind him. He returned his ardor to the prince, his expression calming dangerously. “You had better remember your place.” His voice was low, deceptively leveled. “You feel so comfortable under your father’s wing, but do not forget who holds the leash to his collar.” He rose to his full height and turned on his heel, his wings and cloak swirling out behind him elegantly. He did not look back behind him as he spoke his next words, smooth and clear, into the gaping cavern of the room. 

“The collar destined for your neck.”

Prince Cole watched him go, the airy demeanor fading from his countenance. His expression turned blank, unreadable as he moved to place the wine bottle back onto the marble tabletop, placing it gently, hardly making a sound in the stillness of the room. 

His captain, Lexenios, watched his prince’s movements. His dark blue eyes followed the motions of the prince’s left hand before darting to the heir’s right hand still holding his staff. The grip was tight, too tight, his skin flattened against the metal and his knuckles white as snow. The tremor was barely noticeable, but his keen eyes caught it all the same.

He looked to what he could see of the Prince’s face, still aimed at the wine bottle but not seeing it. “Your Highness?” he ventured, voice low and quiet. 

Cole simply stared at the bottle, his hand aching as he held his staff. He knew it was childish; entertaining the notion that the staff was Cerian’s neck under his fingers, that the wine in his sight was the man’s blood swirling as it was released from its fleshly bindings. He remained still, forcing a deep breath into his lungs. He breathed out slowly, allowing the airflow to sooth him. He finally blinked, loosening his hold on his weapon, slightly annoyed, but otherwise complacent towards the throb that thrummed into his hand and fingers as a result of the lessened grip. _So childish_ , he thought to himself. _Besides, the wine is the wrong color. Much too dark._

“Its fine, Lex,” he finally assured his captain. “Its fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tad shorter chapter than expected but this stretch is proving harder to get onto paper, so here's this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suspicions, concerns and a happy helping of hot air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.  
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.

“Calming” his people had been a rather kaleidoscopic affair.

Bog’s guard, stewards, and the two elders of his council among them had all been on different pages about how to react to the incident. The guard had wanted to track the aggressors down and show them _exactly_ what they were messing with by insulting their king. His stewards, Stuff and Thang, had wanted to wait patiently to see how they acted; rather tactful on their part, and he had been impressed when it was Thang that mentioned first impressions were not always good and perhaps they could redeem themselves. The elders had been on opposite ends of the spectrum. Elder Cog, an undine that had seen many a decade of service, his faceflaps drooping low and his aged grey eyes flaring, wanted nothing more to do with the matter and insisted the best course of action was to leave. Immediately. Let the Misty Rivers know that they cannot get away with such brash behavior and just because the Dark Forest allied with the Green Meadows did not mean they were willing to be mistreated. Elder Bow on the other hand, a large troll with bits of his pointy ears missing and scars across his weathered face, wanted to be more lenient. He agreed with the stewards, that perhaps they were startled. After all, a pack of strong, fierce goblins and their imposing king was enough to make anyone nervous. 

What to do had become even more complicated once Bog had explained the differences in authority, relating that it was much like their own kingdom, but more pronounced. He had tried to convey that while the Council of the Misty Rivers had reacted brazenly, the King of the Misty Rivers was not of the same opinion, hence why the crown prince had halted the stupidity. Elder Cog was unimpressed, noting that the elder council would never act so brazenly in his presence unless properly provoked, and standing still on a rock was hardly provocation. He even raised concerns that perhaps the royal line did not hold nearly as much authority as he himself did in his own kingdom, if it was so effortless for the council to act aggressively on its own. Elder Bow begged to differ, reminding Cog that while the elder council usually did not act on their own, it did not mean they would not. He also reminding Cog that the clan chieftains had and did act on their own plenty of times, yet that did not usurp the Bog King’s rank or authority over them. They had bickered back and forth over it for a while, input randomly chimed in from the guard as they had become more divided on exactly what needed to be done. 

However, it was Thang who asked the question Bog had yet braced himself to answer. 

“Why _did_ they react like that, anyway?” He had looked at his king innocently. And the question was expected. 

But Bog knew he had lost the advantage of being able to hide anything when he had stared too long and his body had stiffened without his consent. All eyes had shifted to him, curious and expectant, realizing he knew _something_.

It was so easy to slip into his scowl and he did so instinctively. His body had blessedly moved smoothly as his mind raced and had gestured to the elders only, walking further along the platform to speak to them about it privately. He had felt the ominous cloud descend upon the others, but he could not risk their reactions. The elders would be bad enough. 

Their eyes had been sharp as he had turned back to them. He had not been able to stop his own from glancing over the scars on Elder Bow’s face, or darting to Elder Cogs’ loose robe and cloak, knowing the scars and mangled skin that marred his body underneath the material. Bog had been unable to stand tall, hunched over and gripping his staff hard, leaning against it for support. Even still, he had to look down to them, feeling his face stony as he tried to calm himself. And prepare for their reactions. 

This had not been a subject of discussion in over a decade after all. 

He had mulled over his words, trying to pick them carefully. Their concern had started to show, though they had remained silent, waiting for their king. 

“There is… an issue in their kingdom. Something that divides their kingdom.” He had paused. Part of him had not wanted to say it aloud. Another part knew he could not keep this from them. “It revolves around halfbloods.”

He had watched the two elders as their faces had rippled from stern resolve to stunned shock. 

Then, had come the shouting. 

“WE’LL NOT STAND FOR THIS ABHORRENT BEHAVIOR!” Elder Bow had erupted.

“WE MUST LEAVE NOW, YOUR MAJESTY!! THIS IS ABSOLUTLY INTOLERABLE!” Elder Cog had roared.

The argument had gone on longer than anticipated, Bow and Cog arguing as much with each other as their king. Bow’s opinion had turned on its head and now he wanted to track them down with the guard and “teach them a lesson worth learning.” Cog had stuck strong to his sentiment, noting that, now knowing the real reason, the insult was far more grievous and the Misty Rivers deserved no more of the Dark Forest’s attention lest it turn deadly for them. The one thing they had both been in agreement on was if they stayed any longer, blood would hit the floor. 

Bog had had enough, throwing his own roar into the mix. They had quieted but refused to back down. 

Their unbridled indignation on his behalf had been so much stronger than he had anticipated, despite the history he had with the two well-weathered goblins. And while his chest had swelled with emotions that had threatened to overrun him, he had forced himself to focus on the task at hand. 

He would hear what Dagda had to say. He had relayed to them the older King’s concern, and this had tempered their rage somewhat, but they both had insisted to hear a report immediately following the conversation. Both were adamant that regardless of the result, they would _not_ stand for the disgusting behavior of the Misty Rivers Council. 

The sensations of Elder Bow’s rough-clawed grip on his shoulder beneath his spurs and Elder Cog’s smooth-skinned hold on the wrist of his other arm were still tingling on his scales as he walked the halls towards Dagda’s office. Memories from long ago, still crisp and clear, filled his mind. Bow and Cog had been fierce warriors then and could still hold their own now if they had to. They would not hesitate if he so much as nodded. 

Bog took a deep breath, looking up to the guards at the office doors. _Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, old friends._ He nodded to the guards, one of them nodding back and rapping the door with two quick taps. A sharp voice from the other side, clearly Dagda’s, prompted the guards to open the doors. 

Bog stepped in, only slightly surprised to see Marianne, Dawn and Sunny in the room as well. Marianne was standing, arms crossed as she stared at her father, Dawn and sunny were sitting in two of the cushy chairs at the coffee table. Dagda was at his desk, leaning over it, hands supporting him as he stared down at a collection of papers sprawled across the desk top. 

The doors closed behind him and he ventured further into the room, going around to Marianne’s side. He tapped his staff to the floor, though he knew Dagda was already aware of his presence. “Apologies for the delay,” he uttered, glancing to Marianne, Dawn and Sunny and seeing worried looks on their faces. 

“No need, Bog. How are they?” Dagda asked, not looking up as his eyes darted side to side, scanning the writing on the papers with haste. 

Bog took a deep breath. “I do not think it will be wise to stand face-to-face with the Misty Rivers’ council today.” He may as well be blunt. “My elders are rather… heated at the moment.”

“I can imagine,” Dagda said, eyes still glued to his papers. 

“Okay, he’s here now, Dad, can you tell us what’s going on?” Marianne said sharply, getting right to the point herself. 

Bog glanced between the two. “You waited?” He had expected a rundown of what he had missed.

Dawn piped up, hands clasped nervously in her lap, “He insisted.”

Dagda took that opportunity to move, walking from around his desk and striding past all of them to the door. He gripped the handle and twisted it the wrong way, forcing it in a counterclockwise motion to stand straight up. The sound of gearwork and heavy shuffling emitted from the door and its frame. Dagda removed his hand to none-too-lightly knock the side of his fist against the door, the wood remaining solidly stationary as if it was suddenly a decorated wall. He then turned back, beelining back to his desk. 

Bog examined the door in confusion.

“It’s locked and sealed now,” Marianne explained. “Even the guards can’t hear our conversation.” Her eyes never left her father as she spoke. 

Bog looked from her stony expression to Dagda, who had gone back around his desk to look at the mysterious papers again. “Dagda.”

“I don’t know what’s going on. But I do know this is serious.” Dagda shuffled some of the papers, moving them to look at others underneath. “And no matter what, I want us _all_ on the same page.”

“Um,” Sunny lifted his hand in question only to return it to his lap to wring both hands nervously, “Even me, Sir?”

“Yes.” Dagda looked at the elf and his eyes softened just a hair. “You signed up for this, Sunny. No backing out.”

Sunny’s eyes widened briefly but he steeled his face and nodded. “I sure did, Sir.”

Dawn reached over to grab one of his hands, a small smile on her face. Though, her own nerves were easy to see. “Okay, Dad. What are your thoughts?” she asked with determination. 

Dagda sucked in a breath, lips forming a line as he looked at the papers again. “This-“ He stopped short. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, his head ducking a fraction. 

Marianne’s foot scraped the floor as she nearly darted forward. “Dad-“

“I should have talked to you about this,” Dagda let out. He opened his eyes, his expression marring. “All of you,” he added, looking up to glance at all of them. 

Bog shook his head. “What do you mean?” 

Dagda stood from his desk, walking around it slowly to lean back against it. He crossed his arms as his wings shuffled to either side, appearing to drape him in a dark red cloak as ominous as his implications. “I should have given forewarning that things may not be entirely pleasant, but I honestly did not think a blatant act of aggression would be something we would have to deal with.” He kept his head down, brows drawn over his eyes in a dark glare. “I also did not expect Onyx to be absent.”

“Lady Nael told us about the halfblood situation in Misty Rivers,” Marianne stated. “Well, not Dawn and Sunny, but she did tell Bog and I.”

“I know,” Dagda nodded. “Bog mentioned it this morning.” 

“Halfblood situation?” Dawn asked, looking between the three of them. 

“What about halfbloods?” Sunny suddenly shot. 

Bog looked to the elf in unmasked surprise. Sunny looked to him, absolutely no obliviousness visible in his brown motes, before his gaze darted back to Dagda. 

The older king sighed. “There are goblin-fae halfbloods in the Misty Rivers Kingdom,” Dagda answered. “There have been for generations. The kingdom is divided between those who treat them equally,” he glanced to the floor, “and those who don’t.”

“What!?” Sunny spouted. “You gotta be kidding me? A kingdom as well off as Misty Rivers has this kind of problem?”

Bog tilted his head. “How do you-“

“Elven families have halfbloods all over the place,” Sunny cut him off in explanation. “Even some with goblin lines. There’s hardly any out here, but in the southlands and the eastern ranges there’s plenty.” He looked back to Dagda. “You serious?” he asked, all nervousness and formal pretense seemingly shoved to the side at this revelation. 

Dagda’s lips quirked slightly as he answered. “Yes, Sunny, I’m afraid so.”

“How come we’ve never heard about this?” Dawn shot in distress.

“Yeah,” Marianne crossed her arms once more, staring her father down sternly. “Why did I have to hear about it from Lady Nael?”

Dagda’s expression took on a pained look as he averted his eyes. “Its complicated.”

“How?” Marianne retorted. “It sounds pretty simple right now!”

Dagda heaved a sigh and ran a hand up his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Girls, do you remember how we used to go to the Misty Rivers Kingdom to visit, just like King Onyx always visits us?”

“Yeah,” they both answered in unison. 

“Do you remember how eight, maybe nine years ago we stopped, and since then it has always been King Onyx visiting us here?”

“Yeah?” Dawn both answered and questioned in concern.

“You never would say,” Marianne commented, her voice low with her own concern. “When I used to ask you when we would go back, you would always just say ‘someday’.”

Dagda removed his hand, nodding. “That’s right. Someday.” He opened his eyes to stare at the floor. “Someday when Onyx believed it would be safer for you to experience his kingdom without fear of what might happen.”

“What?” Dawn sat up straighter. “I don’t remember anything dangerous happening during any of our visits.”

Dagda shook his head. “No, nothing happened. But like I said. It’s complicated.”

“Okay!” Marianne threw her arms up. “Can you tell us how it’s complicated?”

“It’s a cold war.”

All eyes turned to Bog. His own were focused squarely on Dagda. The older king’s eyes were dark, his expression hard. Bog stood straighter, his grip on his staff tightening. The unwelcome thrums of nostalgia twisted in his gut. “They are at each other’s throats. They just haven’t drawn their swords yet.”

Dagda did not move, but his expression told him all he needed to know. 

“You can’t be serious,” Sunny’s disbelieving voice chimed into the sudden silence. “They can’t be about to have a civil war because of this?”

Bog did not break his gaze. He tilted his head, staring down Dagda. “How long?”

Dagda knew what he meant. He could see it brightly in the emerald eyes staring back at him. “Its been toxic for at least a decade, probably longer,” Dagda answered. 

“You’re telling me,” Marianne fisted her hands to her hips, “that the Misty Rivers Kingdom has been on the brink of civil war for more than ten years? And you never told us?” She gestured incredulously between herself and Dawn.

Dagda looked to his daughters as his eyes softened. “I’ve wanted too. And I knew at some point, I may have to. But honestly,” he looked away, his eyes darting to the wall at his right, “Onyx requested I not burden you with this knowledge. At least, not until it was truly necessary.” He re-crossed his arms, lowering his head. “Onyx has held out hope all these years that he could turn public opinion, mend the tears in his kingdom that have kept splitting wider. He did not want you to have to become involved, even with just the knowledge of it, if he could find a way to fix the situation before you came of age.”

Marianne shook her head. “Why would he be so concerned about me and Dawn? I mean, wouldn’t us knowing before now have helped-“

“Ye were too young,” Bog cut her off. Once again, all eyes were on him and he dropped his own to the floor. “He did ye both a favor, asking Dagda to keep this from you while he could.”

Marianne let out a huff. “I beg to differ! I can’t do anything about it if I don’t know-“

“And wha’ could ye have done a’ the ripe old age ah fifteen, maybe younger?” Bog’s voice was not harsh, but his tone made her stop cold. “Wha’ could ye have done, Marianne? About a situation that ye could naw speak to, and one ye were too young to understand?” He had barely noticed his accent thickening as he looked at her, not angry, not sad, but something else entirely. “It’s bad enough be’n in the thick of it, try’n ta fix something with no idea how…” his eyes dropped once more. “Let alone know’n about it with literally noth’n ye can do.”

The silence that followed seemed to swallow the whole room. He let it consume him for a few moments, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He then looked up as Marianne slowly closed the distance between them, her hands clasped and drawn into herself, eyes wide, looking far less like his feisty tough girl than usual. “Bog…” She stared up into his eyes, concern thick on her face. “Is… is that- I mean,” her eyes darted away. 

He knew what her question was. He should not have assumed he could put it off any longer. 

“I’m the only halfblood left in the Dark Forest,” he said quietly. 

This had been the truth for over ten years. However, saying it aloud had forced a cold into his bones that he hated with all his core. “There were more. Whole clans,” he said softly. “However, tensions rose over time. Pureblood goblins started to see us as diluting their lines, weakening the people. Despite the fact that the royal line has been halfblood as far back as my great-great grandmother.” He stopped, eyes on the ground as he held his staff in both hands, gripping tightly. “More than ten years ago now, our own cold war turned hot, not long after I took the mantle of kingship. The war was not long. But the damage…” His tightly controlled voice trailed off. Memories swirled in the back of his mind, ones he pushed back into the darkest depths of his being and worked to keep there as often as possible. Ones he did not want to relive right this minute.

A soft touch at his wrist brought him back to reality and he looked to Marianne, her amber eyes regarding him with sorrow and care. The urge to get lost in those eyes overwhelmed him, and he wanted nothing more than to curl into a dark, warm corner with her for hours on end. Just the two of them. Making different memories…

“You know better than any of us what Onyx has been trying to prevent,” Dagda said lowly, bringing Bog further back into reality. “And that… is what concerns me about this whole situation so far.” The older king stood from his leaning position to walk back around his desk, once again looking at the papers. 

“What are you looking through, Dad?” Dawn asked, hand squeezing Sunny’s tightly. 

Dagda took a deep breath. “These are letters from Onyx I’ve received over the course of several months. I am looking for anything that I may have missed.”

Bog finally tore his eyes from Marianne’s. “Such as?”

“Anything,” Dagda answered. “Especially, any mention of a border issue.”

“But,” Marianne looked to her father, though kept her hand on Bog’s wrist, “you don’t think… Even if the council might, certainly Cole wouldn’t lie about that would he?” she asked hesitantly. 

Dagda narrowed his eyes, again moving several of the letters out of the way. “I don’t know. But I do know that Onyx would have mentioned it to me, no matter how inconsequential it may have seemed. And if it required his physical presence, then there is no chance he would have left it out of his messages.”

“But, what if it was sudden?” Dawn asked.

Dagda shook his head. “We have a method with one another. Knowing each other as long as we have, having gone through what we have, being allied as we have, we have our own system. And part of that system is constant communication.”

“Even if it were, say, immediate?” Sunny questioned. “Like a day or two before needing to leave? Or even more short notice?”

“Yes,” Dagda affirmed. “He would have written _something_ to me, no matter how little words needed to be used, even if Cole had to hand deliver it. He would not have simply ‘told them to tell me’.” He shook his head again, nearly glaring at the papers. “There is a reason for that,” he muttered, as if to himself.

“Well then,” Bog adjusted his grip on his staff, dropping his arm to surreptitiously grab Marianne’s hand that had been previously on his wrist, “what do you suggest we do about the current situation?” Marianne laced her fingers through his and he nearly sighed as warmth flooded his chest. 

Dagda was quiet a moment as he pondered, removing his eyes only to glance to his right to the far wall. 

Bog spontaneously remembered how Dagda had done so repeatedly during their morning discussion and could not help darting his eyes to the section of wall he was sure Dagda was looking at. He narrowed his eyes slightly as he instantly found something of interest, previously hidden earlier that morning due to his position in the room. 

“I think you are right, Bog.”

His attention was torn away as he returned his gaze to Dagda.

“I think today is not the best time for negotiations. Your people need to cool down and I need more time.” Dagda stood straight, crossing his arms to stroke his fingers down his beard. “I’ll send word to the council and Cole that they should spend today recuperating from their journey. We can start fresh tomorrow.”

“What if they do want to talk today?” Sunny asked.

“It isn’t a suggestion,” Dagda answered. His tone held an edge that all in the room were relieved to know was not for them. 

“And what should we do?” Marianne asked. 

“Yeah, certainly we can do something to help?” Dawn added. 

Dagda shook his head. “Nothing yet. Like I said, I need time.” He then looked up quickly. “ _Please_ don’t get any ideas in the meantime,” he said, a barely concealed pleading note in his voice. 

“What? No snooping?” Dawn retorted. 

Dagda lowered his head and ran his fingers into his eyes. It was humorous until he spoke.

“I would rather you not be near them at all. For the moment, not even Cole.” 

His tone belayed no humor. A solemn air hung almost visibly over his shoulders. 

Bog glanced to Marianne as her grip tightened around his. “Wouldn’t that raise suspicion?” she questioned.

“You both have significant others you would rather spend time with,” Dagda said flatly. “And you would _definitely_ rather spend that time with them, now wouldn’t you.” This was another not-suggestion with a tone that was _definitely_ meant for the princesses. 

“Right,” Marianne said quickly, looking to Bog. “We only got one day yesterday before business. Looks like we get another.” She gave an oddly chilling smile, a certain spark in her eyes. 

“Of course! Sunny and I need to go to the market anyway for that shopping we forgot to do!” Dawn looked to Sunny with these words, a smile on her face that held not her usual glow, but a glow all the same. 

“There’s my girls,” Dagda said, his own smile sharp under his hand in a way that literality could only dream of.

Bog could not help a shiver fluttering down his spine. 

He found himself suddenly quite relieved that he was indeed allied with the Green Meadows royalty. 

**~*~**

The crack of wood against wood rang through the air. 

Sunny smiled to himself, kicking his feet back and forth from his seated position as he watched Dawn and Marianne sparring. He had not thought Dawn could get any more attractive to him but seeing her progressing in her sparring lessons with Marianne made her that much more amazing. Dawn had been trained in basic self defense when she was younger but, unlike Marianne, had never been interested in pursuing it much further. After being chased by Lizzie and the other not-so-bad events of early spring, she had decided it was time to get more active. Sunny beamed. 

“You’re gonna break your face if you keep that up,” Bog said across the table from him.

Sunny scoffed. “Oh shush, ya big sour sprout, not everyone has a permanent scowl,” he joked, glancing to the larger male next to him. He was relieved to see the king chuckle, the small quirk of his lips and the sparkle in his eye doing wonders for his sharp features. He did frown a tad, though, at seeing Bog’s knees rising up too much as he leaned forward, one arm draped over a knee while the other was rested on the table. “You can have the chair back, you know,” he mentioned, not for the first time.

“Na, you keep it,” Bog stated, also not for the first time. “The stool is a bit short yes, but I don’t need help on the height scale in case you missed it,” he chided, looking to him with a smirk. “Besides, the seat may be bigger but the chair back on that one is annoying.” His wings rattled lightly as if in agreement with his words.

Sunny sighed. “Yeah, so you’ve said. Can’t believe we still don’t have anything quite right for you, though,” he commented, reaching for his tea as he glanced back to the girls after a particularly loud wood-smack.

“Not high on my priority list to request chairs my size,” Bog said, humor in his voice. “I can make do just fine.” His own eyes were glued to the girls, watching their movements. 

Sunny eyed him, noticing it had been a while since he had called out any stance suggestions or form corrections. He glanced back, quirking a brow as Dawn ducked under Marianne’s wide swing with a graceful spin, before returning his gaze to Bog. “Hey. So, uh… not to get too personal or anything, but… you doing okay?” he asked, wincing lightly as the words left him. _Yeah, that sounded real professional,_ he scolded himself.

Bog looked to him, face surprisingly open and at ease. “As well as can be.” He returned his gaze to the girls. “The elders are still gnawing at the bit to do something and are still… not pleased about the whole affair but are accepting my decision to wait a day. Though, they did request an awful lot of that cherry beer - the cherry wheat blend by that brewer in the south fields of your village.”

Sunny smiled wide. “Oh yeah, old Haywood’s cherry – gotta love it!” 

Bog snickered lightly, raising his arm off the edge of the table only to rest his elbow against it and set his jaw in his hand. 

Sunny never failed to be amazed at how Bog’s armor worked. The elbow spur that seemed so dangerous, and in fact was very dangerous, was also just flexible enough, when pushed at the right angle, to allow Bog to do something so normal. He remembered when he watched the first time months ago. He had cringed at the thought that Bog had been about to get his elbow stuck in the thick wood table at which he had been seated at the time, only to see Bog angle his forearm just a smidge outward, extending his upper arm just a smidge more than a fairy might, and voila! His elbow spur bent just a fraction and he was sitting in a pose anyone else might sit in. Though, at that time he had been far more exhausted, that having been one of the days of clearing out the debris of the collapsed castle.

Sunny’s nostalgia waned and he took a quick sip of his tea, realizing Bog had not really answered his question. He had done a beautiful redirect, but despite the fact he could talk about Haywood’s beer selections all day long, he was more concerned about the huge, lanky grump sitting next to him. He took a quick sip of his tea again. He then sucked in a deep breath, steadying himself. As much as he was no longer fearful of the man across from him, he knew better than to think they were the best of friends. Still. Bog was a good person and he was great to Marianne. This was obviously a bad subject, but he did not want Bog to think he had to handle it alone. Especially, since that seemed to have been the case for quite a while. “Didn’t really answer the question, though,” Sunny ventured quietly. “Are you alright, BK?” He looked timidly to his side, eyes alert for any signs he may have overstepped his bounds. 

Bog was quiet a moment, silently watching the girls, his expression unchanging. 

Sunny pressed his lips together tightly. 

Then, a sigh, a slight rustle of the wings. Bog’s eyes took on a thoughtful expression, though a hint of his scowl played at the corners of his mouth. “I meant what I said. I’m as good as can be.”

Sunny nodded slowly. He turned his attention away, staring into his tea. 

“I appreciate you asking, though.”

Sunny’s eyes darted back. Bog had not moved, had not even looked his way. However, his expression seemed calmer. Sunny nodded again. “Yeah. Anytime. I mean, I know I haven’t had- gone through- anything like it. But we’re here for you. Me, Dawn, Marianne. I don’t know how all we can help.” He let his eyes drift, glancing the random drink and foodstuffs that had been provided for the four of them nearly an hour ago. “But… I’m willing to.” He skirted his eyes back to Bog. He was sitting still, same position, same distant gaze that somehow seemed far less focused on the sparring going on in front of them. His expression was so expressionless it was unreadable. Sunny bit the inside of his lip, his own gaze shifting to the princesses.

“Thank you.”

Sunny closed his lips tightly, barely fighting off a gasp of surprise. He waited a few seconds before breathing in deeply, letting the breath out as quietly as he could. He nodded again, more to himself this time. “No problem, BK.”

It became quiet between them, though it was not uncomfortable. Both of them simply watching as the girls continued their efforts, seemingly tireless in the summer heat as they parried and swung, jumped and fluttered. 

“I have a question for you, if you don’t mind,” Bog suddenly asked.

Sunny’s brows shot up and he turned to look across the table. “Yeah!” _Oi, don’t sound so excited!_ “I mean, yeah, sure, shoot.” _Wow, that was sooo much better_ , he scolded himself. He just barely refrained from rolling his eyes in self-aggravation.

“Have you known I was a halfblood this whole time?”

Sunny blinked, the question surprising him. “Well, yeah. I mean,” he looked away, barely catching that Bog’s eyes had darted to him, “I guess I didn’t _know_ in that I’ve seen someone like you before, because I haven’t, but really, it was the only logical deduction.” He stared into his tea again as he thought. “I mean… yeah. Its really the only conclusion that makes sense.” He lifted his eyes, going still at seeing Bog’s gaze narrowed on him from the corner of his eye, form otherwise completely unchanged.

Bog redirected, eyes drifting, but not quite back to the sparring. “You mentioned it was common in elven families. Though not many here?”

Sunny nodded despite Bog not looking his way. “Yeah. There’s a few different types- brownie, pixie, even fairy lines. But yeah, not many here,” he affirmed. “There’s only one family here actually, that’s an elf-brownie fam, and there’s a few loners who have obvious fairy blood, though it’s heavily bred out. They don’t even have wings.” He paused, watching Bog as his fingers held his teacup tightly. 

“And the goblin halfbloods?” 

Sunny ran his thumb along the rim of his cup. “There are several families in the eastern ranges. A few loners scattered through some southland towns, mostly near the ports.” He waited, sure there was more behind these questions. 

“So, most elves are familiar with halfbloods then?”

Sunny nodded again. “Yeah. We’re pretty used to it. Also not so opposed to mixing, obviously.” He glanced up, catching Dawn doing a rather impressive lunge. 

“So, is it just a few random people of the elven populace that have issue with it?”

Sunny’s brows drew down. He glanced to Bog, again the larger male’s form unchanged. “Nooo,” he said, hearing the confusion in his own voice. “No one that I know of has any issue.” He felt a tinge, sudden protective impulse rising in him. “Why? Did someone say something to you?” he asked quickly. He found it unlikely, but some elves could be rather upfront. And if so, some words were going to be had.

Bog took a deep breath, a sigh escaping him as his eyes fluttered over the girls before turning to Sunny. He turned his head more towards him, and the expression on his face was barely readable. “No one said anything, no. But your mother is rather tactless when she’s taken off guard.”

Sunny froze, his eyes widening. He was quiet for a moment, simply staring into the crystal depths that suddenly looked rather… sad. He then felt his disappointment washing over him and he grimaced, looking away. “Should’ve known,” he muttered. He then shook his head. “It has nothing to do with you being halfblood, BK.” 

He felt the table shift slightly. “It doesn’t?”

Sunny looked back, seeing Bog sitting straighter, having lifted his head from his hand, thought his arm was still propped up. He heaved a sigh, leaning back into his chair. “No. Though, I don’t know what’s worse. Judging based on appearance or based on stupid stories.”

“What?” Bog asked, brow raised. 

Sunny looked to the sky, trying to find the right words. “My mom and dad… they’re protective. Overprotective at times. And I can’t blame them, me and my brothers are a little rowdy, and I am the smallest, and I have gotten into some scuffles before. But this time…” He squeezed his lips together and groaned. “This time it’s all because of the stories we told about you, you know?” He looked to Bog, shrugging his shoulders. “Or whatever stories we heard. Like, how monstrous you were, how you let your goblins eat people who got lost in your forest, how you killed strangers on sight… things like that.”

Bog sat up straight, arm slumping down to the table. “If this is about what I said when you were sneaking about the castle-“

“I know, I know!” Sunny cut in, raising a hand. “I know it was a tense situation, possible assassin stuff- blah, blah! I didn’t even tell them about that, honestly.” He frowned. “Which is probably a good thing.”

“And the eating thing is a scare tactic! We’ve never _actually_ eaten people before, that’s madness!” he said, hefting his hands in a perturbed manner. He then let them fall and grimaced. “Though, Brutus is a bit… slow on the uptake. Sometimes he takes things too literally.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve had to talk to him several times about that.”

“Yeah, I’ve been there during one of those talks of yours, remember.” Sunny had to bite back a smile. “It was hilarious, though. You have to admit that!”

Bog rolled his eyes. “Tossing a roll of rope down to the brownies stuck in the ravine was not funny.” He gave a lukewarm glare at Sunny’s snickering. “Okay, funny or not, it didn’t help their mood or opinion.”

“I know, I know,” Sunny admitted. He then sighed. “But you see, this is what I mean.” He looked to see Bog eyeing him with a raised brow. “This is all just… well,” he looked away, gesturing vaguely as if he could catch the words out of midair, “just… misunderstanding! There’s a reason behind everything, every story has a root that turns out isn’t nearly as horrible as anyone thought, they just didn’t see it from the other side.” He heaved another sigh. “And that’s the problem. My parents haven’t quite got that yet. They don’t realize that everything we thought we knew was just _half_ the story. They still think you…” He bit his lip. He really did not want to say the rest out loud. 

“They think I’m a monstrous killer worming my way into everyone’s good graces so I can wreak havoc when you least expect it,” Bog summarized. 

Sunny blinked. He looked to Bog with a huff out his nose. “Yeah, basically.”

Bog chuckled. 

Sunny could not help a smile, relieved Bog was handling this so well. 

“Well,” Bog leaned against the table again, tapping his claws on the richly stained wood, “I haven’t really tried to correct the assumptions. In fact, I have rather bolstered them over the years, I think.”

Sunny replaced his teacup on the table, turning partway in his chair to lean his elbows on the edge. “Yeah, but you had your reasons. I can’t say I would have done any different if I were in the same situation, wanting everyone out of my domain.” He let his gaze drift as his brows drew down and her pursed his lips. “In fact, I’m probably kinda guilty of the same actually.”

“Oh?” Bog looked to him with amused curiosity.

Sunny let out a laugh. “Well, when I was going through my rebellious teen phase, I didn’t want anyone in my mushroom, so I told them all the stuff I’d do to them if I caught anyone trying to sneak in. Most of it was a bluff of course, but still,” he said with a shrug. 

“Only most of it?” Bog questioned with a smirk.

Sunny leveled a smirk of his own. “Hey, I got a mean front kick, okay. Specially when you startle me.”

“I’ll have to make sure not to startle you then,” Bog chided. 

Sunny laughed at that. “BK, at this point, I don’t think anything you do could startle me! I’ve seen all your tricks!”

Bog tilted his head at that. “Oh, trust me, my friend, you haven’t seen all of them!” he said with a snarky smile. 

Sunny let out another laugh but felt himself stall for just a moment. _Bog just called me his friend!_ Part of him knew it was silly, like being back in the schoolyard and the cool kid picking you out to be on his team during midday break. But another part of him was genuinely happy to hear that the fearsome Bog King of the Dark Forest had just called him friend. 

“What are you two laughing at?”

Both of them shot to attention at Marianne’s question, looking at the sweaty, panting princesses who had very abruptly appeared in front of them. 

“Uuuh,” they both uttered in unison, glancing to each other. 

“Oh, who cares!” Dawn huffed, “Sunny, is the water still cold?” 

“Yup, sure is!” Sunny piped, standing on the chair to reach over for the water carafe, the ceramic double layered to allow insulation for any liquid inside. “You want a tall glass-“

He was cut off by Dawn grabbing the carafe from his hands and promptly pouring its contents over her head. “Oh my goodness! That feels great!” she practically moaned.

Sunny immediately flushed, the summer heat doing him no favors, as Bog seemingly choked on air. 

“Dawn!” Marianne quickly grabbed the carafe. “That is not- ah, um…”

“I do not care, I am hot!” Dawn retorted. She then proceeded to shake her head, her already wild hair growing wilder with the wetness. 

Sunny pulled at his shirt collar. “So am I, Dawn, so am I,” he said, gaze darting anywhere but at Dawn and her wet tunic now plastered to her upper body. Snickering to his right caught his attention and he threw a glare at Bog. “Oh, laugh it up, spiky!”

Bog actually covered his mouth and bowed his head. 

“Oh you’re one to laugh,” Marianne scoffed then grinned. “Do I need to remind you-“

“Anyone think inside sounds good?” Bog chirped, standing so suddenly he nearly knocked the stool over. 

“Inside sounds _great!_ ” Dawn ran her hands through her hair before reaching for Sunny’s. “Come on, Sunny! Let’s go cool down!”

“Yeah,” Sunny agreed. “Cool down, sounds good.” He threw a playful glare at Bog, who merely smirked. 

Sunny could not help a smile as he let himself be pulled along by Dawn. _My friend. I’ll do my best to live up to it_ , he thought fondly. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavy thoughts lead to heated kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.  
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.

Marianne inhaled deeply, relishing the sweet scent of her rose petal bed mixed with the earthy, spicy scent of Bog’s chest under her cheek.

It was early evening and the two had just finished a light dinner in her room. They had been there since parting ways with Dawn and Sunny who, after sufficient cooldown time, had gone on into the elven village to do that “shopping” Dawn had mentioned. Marianne loved moments like these, where she and Bog could just relax together, not doing anything but spending time in each other’s company. Sometimes they talked about matters of state, or differences in customs, sometimes they talked about random things like food preferences, or funny habits. Other times, they did not talk at all, simply enjoying the feeling of being with one another. That was where they were at the moment, Bog laid down on his back, Marianne tucked against him with her cheek on the flat part of his chest scales. He held her close with one arm, slowly dragging his fingers up and down her arm wrapped around his waist, barely touching skin with the tips of his claws. It was perfect.

Mostly.

Marianne gazed lazily at the far side of the room, her vanity in view. She traced the lines of the tabletop, the stool, the edges of the mirrors, all surfaces she knew so well. All the while, her mind toyed with an element she did not know so well.

Bog’s words were haunting her.

She knew there was no logical reason for them to do so. But they did all the same. Those scars on his body she remembered going over in her memory last night, his bitter mood and extreme reaction in the library. The words he had said in the library, especially.

She wanted to talk about it. Not simply to assuage curiosity, but more to know what she felt was necessary. This was a major part of Bog’s life. It helped shape who he was as a person, contributed to his insecurities yet also his resolve, and brought him firsthand experience with internal relations and warfare. Not only that, but it seemed history was repeating itself, only with friends she had known far longer than Bog. Hearing Bog’s story in more detail might help her prepare, might give her an idea of what to do, how to react.

She chewed on her lip as she thought about Cole and his father. She had never really focused much on it, but looking back, it seemed so clear: They were always tense when they arrived in the Green Meadows and relieved once they set foot in the castle. And almost always they would visit _without_ any members of the Misty Rivers Council. In fact, she could only remember twice before today when the council had accompanied them. And if she remembered correctly, those times had been somewhat tense as well. Though, as young as she had been, she had assumed it was simply due to whatever obligations they were fulfilling at the time.

She heaved a sigh, her thoughts drifting to Cole and his actions today. He had been quick and precise, so fast to defend Bog’s honor without even knowing him. She had been happy to see that, despite her anger at the event happening at all. She would have expected nothing less, really, even if she had not been aware of the underlying situation. Cole was a good man, as far as she could tell. She had known him her whole life, had practically grown up with him, even though he was seven years older than her. And while he had become more distant as he had taken on more responsibility under his father, he still had maintained a cordial friendship, his personality unchanging. As such, it concerned her, what her father was saying. Though, while she felt his suspicion of Cole unwarranted, part of her knew there was cause for it as well.

After all, she was nowhere near as close with Cole as her father was with Onyx. 

Her father and King Onyx were like two sides of the same coin. When they were together, they were practically inseparable. They joked with each other in parables that only they could understand, they could finish each other’s sentences effortlessly, could answer each other’s unasked questions as if reading each other’s minds. Even their physical interactions were damnear artful. They moved about each other as if they were psychically aware of where the other was at all times, they more often than not fell into the same stride when walking side-by-side, they even had a strange habit of shuffling their wings at the same exact time, as if they had choreographed the motion. And she had never seen her father so comfortable sharing physical touch with another person outside of her and her sister; aside from her memories of his interactions with her mother. Whether it was Onyx’ arm leaned on his shoulder or her father elbowing the taller royal in the ribs. Heck, she even remembered at one of the festivals a few years back when they had both had a bit much to drink and Onyx had managed to get her father into a headlock.

The two just _knew_ each other. It was a deep-seated connection that reminded her of the relationship she had with Dawn, only stronger, if that were possible.

And that weighed a lot when it came to her father’s concerns over this whole situation. She knew, deep down, he was not throwing suspicion around for no reason. But the thought of Cole doing anything that would have ill-effect towards his own father, or worse, betraying him completely? It just did not seem right.

Marianne sighed.

“You wanna talk about it?”

She went stiff against Bog’s side before a small laugh escaped her. “Was I being that obvious?”

“’Fraid so,” Bog muttered with another sweep of his hand along her arm. “What’s on your mind?”

She chewed on her lip for a moment. “I don’t want to bother you with it.” She smiled at the rumble of a snickered laugh vibrating through his chest into her cheek.

“You wouldn’t be bothering me, Love,” Bog assured.

Marianne took a deep breath. “I wanted to ask you more… but I know it’s hard for you to talk about.” She left it at that, hoping he would catch her hint that she was not going to press him on it.

He was quiet for a few moments, making her nerves try to worm up and get the better of her. She squashed them down, trying to remain calm.

“What did you want to know?”

She kept herself steady, trying not to indicate her surprise. Or her concern. She thought about his question, though, and how best to answer it. “… Everything. Or whatever you’re willing to talk about.”

Bog took a deep breath, his chest rising slowly with the motion. She relaxed into the travel of his muscles, running a thumb along one of his abdominal scales as his chest moved back down. “This will never be an easy subject. So, I suppose a little goes a long way, eh?”

She smiled lightly. “Whatever you are comfortable with. And you don’t have to say anything at all if you aren’t ready right now.” She waited while he remained silent, continuously stroking her thumb as his hand continued its languid path up and down her arm. 

“It was ever present in my life,” he said softly. “The prejudice. It was not something I started to notice until into my teenage years, though looking back I had realized it had been there the whole time. I remembered the dirty looks, and the disgusted faces. Whispered words which I had not put any weight to.” Bog shifted, lifting his head to slide his other arm underneath. “It wasn’t all bad. There were those who cared, who had a great deal of compassion and love. They would always make it better, or try to. As the words got harsher and the actions got bolder, the love got stronger and the soothing was always immediate.”

Marianne scrunched her eyebrows down in confusion. “How exactly did anyone get away with treating the crown prince in such a manner?” she asked quietly. 

Bog let out a low chuckle. “Naw the same as ‘tis here, Love. The royal family has the top authority, but we are still on equal ground. We are not above insults or criticism, just as we are not above praise and friendly tidings. Our status as royal is simply that- a status. And only exists so long as we fulfill the responsibilities of that status.”

Marianne narrowed her eyes, thinking about what that statement meant. “Does that mean… at any time, your royal heritage could be… annulled?”

“Mhm,” Bog answered. “If the line fails to perform, to protect and preserve, as we have sworn to do, then we can be challenged for the Mantle of Kingship. That in and of itself is… an _intricate_ process,” he added.

Her mind reeled at his words. She wanted to ask more about this, the concept so foreign to her, but decided against it. She was on the subject that was more pressing to her right now so she filed that away for later discussion. “So… did someone challenge you?”

Bog let out a bark of a laugh. “Nae, Love. If that had been done, there may not have been a war. Or at least, it may not have come about the same way.” She felt him shake his head. “No, they had no grounds to challenge for the Mantle, even if they had tried. One of the most powerful of the pureblood clans had gotten big heads on’em. Had rallied support behind our backs, inciting the other purebloods who were quietly simmering under the surface.”

She squeezed her arm tighter around him. “And they just attacked?” she questioned.

He was quiet, hand still moving automatically over her arm. She bit her lip as she waited. 

“They insisted they had provocation.”

She felt a glare mar her features as she laid against him. “Oh really?” She moved, raising up on an elbow to look down at him. “What _possible_ provocation could they have had?” she asked incredulously.

Bog stared up at her, his face unreadable. He simply looked at her, his hand trailing up to her shoulder, fingertips ghosting towards her neck and gently flitting over her dress collar and into her hair. His gaze trailed her face, from her eyes, to her hair, her nose, her lips. His fingers grazed along her ear, sending shivers down her spine. Her ardor started to fade into dread as he kept his lips shut, his eyes meeting hers. 

She saw it… the hint of self-loathing that he fought so hard to hide. She shook her head, opening her mouth to comfort him-

“The Potion.”

She froze, staring down at him as he too went still. 

_That was eleven, almost twelve years ago,_ her mind nudged her. Almost twelve years ago that he had declared his ban on Love and had imprisoned Sugar Plum in his dungeon. His words from earlier filtered back into her mind. _“More than ten years ago now, our own cold war turned hot…”_

“She was one of their clan,” Bog said, his voice barely above a whisper. “She had run off after what I did. I had been sick to my stomach with worry, not sure what was going to happen as a result.” He shifted his gaze, looking to the ceiling. “She actually wrote me, saying she would not tell a soul if I promised to do the same. We would just live our lives like it never happened. I agreed.” He closed his lips again, swallowing hard. “Then… not even a week later…” his voice was so low, it was barely a breath, “her clan and their loyals stormed the castle by night. They… they took…” His eyes took on a shine and seemed to gleam with pain at the memories playing across his mind. “I couldn’t… stop them. I wasn’t able ta…”

She could see the tears building, the moisture pooling in his eyes, causing his crystal blue irises to shine like river water.

 _No._ Marianne acted faster than she thought about it, moving quickly to rise up and wrap a leg over him, straddling his waist. She gripped his face in her hands and bowed over him, her face within a breath of his. He was silent, looking up into her eyes. His tears had slipped, running out the sides of his eyes and coating her thumbs. 

The absolute anguish expressed in his eyes, the pain written across his face… it was too much.

She kissed him. It was tender, but not soft. She moved her lips against his, trying to pool in her emotions, her intentions, her comfort. As much as she could to just speak to him without words. His lips moved with hers, and his fingers tangled further into her hair, his other hand coming to run up her side, up her back to hold her close.

She broke away for a moment, resting her forehead to his, his shuddering sigh shaking through his body into hers. His eyes were closed, tears still running down the sides of his face. He rose his face slightly, his nose running against hers. 

Marianne smiled, her vision blurring as her own eyes stung with tears. “I love you,” she whispered.

A breath of a laugh, a watery smile. Bog opened his eyes, though it seemed to take a great effort. “I love ye more,” he muttered back, his voice thick. 

Marianne’s own soft laugh escaped her as she captured his lips again. She moved with purpose, claiming his lips slowly, feeling out every detail as she had done before and would do again. He moved with her as she cradled his face, trailing her right hand down, feeling along his spiked jaw. She nudged his chin lightly slipping her tongue passed his teeth as he opened to her easily. A soft breath of a moan greeted her as she moved her tongue along his, tasting him as she trailed her hand further. His fingers dancing down the back of her neck and moving to trail down the costal of her left wing sent shivers down her spine as her own fingers found the soft skin of his neck. She lightly raked her nails down his pulse point, and she felt him shift under her. She smiled into their kiss, moving away from his lips, using her other hand to hook a thumb under his jaw and nudge his head back. As in the library, her lips met his throat, and a purring sigh vibrated against her as his hand at her back found her spine, his fingertips pressing in as he dragged them down. She moaned against his skin, the sparks dancing up her spine, down her abdomen, and through her costals of her wings still strong despite the thicker material of the dress. She darted her tongue out to taste up his neck before biting lightly against the muscle, eliciting a soft gasp. Then trailed her hand further down his chest, tracing the seams in his chest plates. She raked downward with her teeth, feeling him shutter as she dipped her tongue into the hollow of his throat. His fingers pushed into her spine again, this time gliding upward. Her wings lifted instinctively, her body shivering as his one hand drifted between her shoulder blades and the other ghosted over her costal once more. She hitched a sigh, sparks shooting southward, her wings shivering as her heat started to build. She nipped at his throat as her own fingers found the spot underneath where his chest plates ended, right where the tip of his sternum would be. She practically grinned, licking his skin again as she slipped her fingers under the plates, finding the soft skin embedded there. 

Bog’s breath hitched and his chest rose upward into her fingers, his head digging back into the petals. “Hah… Marianne…” he breathed. 

His husky whisper filled her with satisfaction as she splayed her fingertips as wide as she could under the scale and then applied pressure, pulling down. He all but moaned, his hand at her wing dropping to the bed, gripping one of the rose petals tightly. She grinned, somehow immensely pleased to hear the slight ripping sound of his claws through the material, before licking up his throat again. She had found this spot entirely by accident about a month ago and she loved using it to her advantage. His reactions always drove her crazy, nearly as crazy as her touching it drove him. She nipped at his jaw, removing her hand, his sigh and breathless gasp tickling her senses before she reclaimed his lips, trailing her hand down his abdomen between them. His hand reclaimed its position from the rose petals, fingers burying into her hair as he pulled her to him, mouth hungrily searching hers, their tongues dancing. 

Then, her fingers found their target, his unarmored flesh at the base of his hip spurs.

He groaned into her mouth, the sound edged in a growl as she raked her nails up the sensitive area. She refused to give up her claim however, delving her tongue deeper, darting her fingers further around his hip as he squirmed underneath her. She found her next target and was rewarded with a yelp that melted into a purring moan muffled by her lips as his back arched, his hips bucking upward away from her fingers as she scraped up the base of his spine. His hand in her hair dropped to her shoulder, long fingers wrapping and tugging while his other arm tightened around her waist. She acquiesced, releasing his mouth, though she quickly pushed her fingers downward and raked her nails up again.

Marianne felt a wolfish grin grace her face, heat building below her navel as she watched Bog tremble. His head arched back, teeth baring in a half snarl. “Hahh… ah-uuhh… Mari… Marianne!” 

His voice was a purring whine that touched her in all the right places. And the skin of his face and neck were flushed that dark color again, but now, in much better lighting, Marianne was entranced by the combination. The indigo of his blood was clear as day in the light of her room lamps, but the silvery shimmer of his skin created a sheen that reminded her of a dark pearl in firelight. Her centre burned hotter at the sight, a throb pulsing up her belly and down her thighs as she gazed at him. “You are so beautiful,” she whispered without thinking.

Bog’s eyes fluttered open, piercing her with that crystal blue that seemed to glow in his own heat. She could see it in his eyes, masked by what she was doing to him. She could see the shock… the disbelief.

Her impulses took over and it felt as if her hand moved on its own. Her fingers grazed skin and scale before finding the heated flesh between his legs and she pushed. _Hard_.

Bog’s reaction was immediate.

He yelped, the loud noise morphing into a snarl as he sat up, pulling her to her knees against him, one arm wrapping around her waist while the hand of the other darted to hers, yanking her hand away. Marianne did not even have time to squeak in surprise as she found herself held tightly, one arm held out and his face buried in the crook between her neck and shoulder. 

Panic shot through her as her thoughts caught up. _Oh no, oh no! Did I do something wrong?_ She took a shaky breath, tensing, as she gripped his shoulder with her arm that was pinned between them. “Bog! I’m so sorry! Did I hur-“

“Ssshh… sit still…”

Her panic wafted away as sparks fluttered back to life in her stomach. The ache between her legs gave a painful throb as the deep purr of his voice caressed her ears. He moved, nuzzling her dress collar out of the way to drag his lips against her skin, and she bit her lip as she felt him inhale deeply, taking in the scent of her. His grip around her wrist softened. While he still kept her arm held out, he moved his fingers, sliding them down over her hand, his larger one engulfing hers as he pressed his thumb into her palm. 

“Careful… Very careful…” he whispered, that purr resonating though his voice.

Marianne shivered, her wings trembling behind her as they stood at attention. His lips were replaced by his teeth and he raked them so very slowly along her skin. Marianne froze, a moan caught in her throat as her eyelids dropped and liquid heat poured into her centre. The gentle pressure, more than he had ever used before but still not enough to break her skin, only served to fan her embers and she inhaled sharply. He shifted, moving to the spot just under her jaw and he did it again, opening his mouth wide to gently, purposefully pull his teeth against her skin. His wings rattled and flared out behind him as he did so. Marianne shivered at the sight of the pearlescent membranes reflecting different colors in the light. The barest hint of a moan escaped her, her fingers digging into his shoulder scale as she arched into him, the heat between her legs tightening almost painfully. “Oh… Bog,” she breathed. 

A deep growl reverberated through his chest against her and she heard the noise catch in his throat. Oh, that growl played her like an instrument, and she could not keep the shuddering whimper from escaping her as her ache throbbed. “Careful, Love,” he purred again, finally moving to look at her. 

Marianne bit her lip, the heat in her skin rising another notch as she looked into his eyes, pupils dilated wide and that dark flush gracing his skin so beautifully. “Careful?” she managed, just barely keeping her growing want from her voice.

He held her gaze as he finally brought her hand inward, his other arm just barely distracting her as he moved the hand at her waist downward. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he turned his head, bringing her hand to his mouth and placing his tongue to her palm, slowly licking upward, trailing the length of her middle finger all the way to her fingertip.

Marianne’s legs trembled and her wings shuttered behind her as her centre tightened, her groin pulsed again. Pure need flared up like a beast, spreading flames through her body and down her limbs. “Bog… what do you mean, careful?” she asked desperately, nearly a whine.

He did not answer. He continued to stare at her, eyes half-lidded in a predatory gaze as he let out a purring sigh. He ran his tongue back down her palm before running his teeth over the meat of her thumb, repeating that slow raking motion. He pulled her hand along his face, doing the same again at the pulse point of her wrist, eyes never leaving hers. 

Marianne nearly panted as she watched him, somewhere in the back of her mind surprised at just how wanton she felt right now, how much she wanted his tongue and teeth elsewhere. This want was something she had _never_ felt before.

A sudden glimmer, a refraction of light, caught her attention and her gaze fluttered to her fingertips near Bog’s crown. Three of her fingers seemed to have some sort of moisture on them. Not just her middle finger, but her index finger and ring finger as well. Confusion tickled at the back of her mind. _Bog only licked the middle…_

Her attention shot back to Bog’s heady gaze and his eyes narrowed on her. Marianne’s mouth started to water, and her breathing quickened. Her pulse pounded in her ears. 

She had uncovered him.

In all the times they had fooled around, pressed each other’s buttons, skirted ever closer to, but never quite taking, the next step, Bog had always managed to keep himself physically restrained. Even when she did catch glances or looks downward, never did she see any hint of anything. And here she had gone and made that decision for him.

His growl brought her from her shock, and he pulled her arm up and over his shoulder. He then leaned in, wrapping his now free arm around her while he skirted his other hand downward, fingertips and claws grazing the bare skin at the back of her knee, just under her dress. “Careful. Very careful,” he whispered, “Marianne.” He purred her name, deep in his throat and the effect it had on her may as well have been his finger stroking her core.

She caught an intake of breath, staring into his intoxicating eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I still- still don’t understand,” she all but panted, arching her body into him almost without thought.

He brushed his nose to hers, leaning forward and pulling in at her waist, pushing her back slightly as his hot hand suddenly held the back of her thigh, inching upward under the material of the dress. “I won’t hurt you,” he breathed. “Can’t hurt you.”

Confusion trickled into her mind again and Marianne shook her head lightly. “You won’t hurt me, I know you won’t,” she assured in a panted whisper.

A quick growl left him before his lips were on hers, moving hungrily. She moved with as much fervor, matching his motions when his tongue met hers. Just a hint of a foreign taste graced her senses and she moaned into his mouth, the flavor causing her heat to spike as she arched further into him, pulling him closer. His hand ducked further behind her toward her inner thigh and she sucked a breath in through her nose. She felt his fingers slide upward easily through moisture. His claws gently grazed her sensitive skin and he rotated his hand. His thumb and last finger pushed against the hot, sensitive, wet skin just where her inner thighs met her body and she all but mewled at the contact.

Marianne felt hot, too hot. Her dress felt too tight, her wings shivered, her legs trembled, the heat- the swelling in her core the tightness in her centre was almost painful, and she could feel her own wetness down her legs as Bog pressed his fingers into her skin, the roughness of the backsides of his fingers only adding to her heat- her need- and his lips caressing hers, his tongue dancing with hers, that feint taste overwhelming, addicting-

Marianne tore her lips from Bog’s, baring her teeth in desperation. “Bog! Touch me!” she hissed. “Please!” She rocked her hips, her heat-addled brain disappointed that he moved with her instead of against her keeping his fingers poised away from where she wanted them. “Please,” she whimpered, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other holding tight to the leafy scales of his head. 

Bog looked her in the eyes, his own dark and hungry as he panted against her. “Tell me… to stop,” he whispered.

“No,” Marianne huffed, rocking against him again. _Why? Why would I want this to stop?_ she thought instead of spoke, her words failing her.

“ _When,_ ” he hissed, nudging forward, teeth barely raking her bottom lip, “when… to stop,” he said in a low rumble.

His crystal eyes left her vision as he moved to the other side of her neck, burrowing under her collar to drag his tongue up her pulse. She sighed, rolling her head back, giving him full access to her throat, while his hand at her waist pulled her closer, his claws ripping just barely into the fabric of her dress. 

Then his other hand moved, the one her body deemed far more important.

His fingers shifted inward, rolling over the fabric of her undergarment. Her breath caught and she shivered as she tightened, her wings stretching outward in anticipation. Her hips rocked just lightly and his arm around her middle strengthened, holding her to him. 

“Still…,” he purred against her neck. “Have to be careful.” His hand moved, the underside of his forearm raking against her rear end deliciously and she felt the tips of his claws ever-so-lightly touch against the soft skin just above her garment. 

She bit her lip, forcing herself into the stillness he requested. He pulled his claws down and the cloth went tight for a split second before a clean tearing noise rang out into the room and she felt the hot air under her dress caress her skin. A shuddering sigh left her and she felt the whine in her own voice as she leaned her head forward, her lips at Bog’s ear. “Please… Please, Bog…” she pleaded, grazing her lips to the sensitive skin and darting her tongue out to trace the line of his arch. It was his turn to shudder against her and a deep rumble of a growl rewarded her efforts as he moved, dragging his teeth down her neck. He reached his fingers up, the pads of his fingers touching her soft skin then drifting down. 

Her breath hitched and a mewling sigh left her as he trailed into her folds, spreading her. A fierce, burning desire ignited as she felt herself bared. When another finger ran right down her center, stroking her bud, she cried out, the heat shooting like an electrical current down her legs and into her core. She gripped him tightly as he stroked upward, then back down. She panted, her head hanging backward as he started stroking in a rhythm. Little sounds, mewls and whimpers escaped her lips as he strummed out a melody against her, the music he played stoking her fire higher and higher. His movements were so gentle as he pushed, teased, stroked, his hold on her tight, but secure, his breath and lips against her neck intoxicating-

Marianne suddenly lost the ability to breathe. She felt her body go rigid and the flames he had been fanning within her flared. At that moment, his teeth bit down at her neck and his fingers moved just right.

The moan that escaped her pitched into mewling cries as her pleasure crested, wracking her body over and over again in waves. Her hips rocked on their own as he continued his motions, using the thick of his fingers against her to push her waves higher, the pain of his teeth sharp against her skin only adding to the euphoria. She was dimly aware of her cries growing louder as lights flashed behind her closed eyes and blood rushed her ears. Her breathing became ragged, she tried to form words, but her mind failed to function. 

Bog then slowed, his fingers moving languidly. The pressure of his teeth lessened, and his tongue took their place, gently rolling over her skin. 

The waves crashing through her veins slowly dissolved into a pleasant tingling that thrummed throughout her body and limbs, and she felt herself trembling, her wings shivering behind her. She panted, her pulse heavy in her chest. “Ohh, Bog,” she huffed. “Bog… I… Iloveyou,” she uttered in one breath, eyes closed as she tried to hug him close. It was hard, as the tremor in her legs was getting the better of her despite Bog’s arms holding her up. 

He purred deep in his chest, his lips at her cheek close to her ear. “I love you more,” he murmured. 

He slowly removed his hand, and she shivered as the pads of his fingers grazed her lightly. She felt the relatively cooler air of the room hit her legs as he pulled his hand from under her dress before the material fell, ensconcing her in heat again as he wrapped his arm around her waist with the other. He held her tight and leaned back. 

She squeaked as his back hit the rose petals, holding her securely to him. She felt him raise his knees up behind her, though he had her pulled so far up his body that she did not feel any contact. She breathed in deeply, nuzzling into the rose petal at her face before burying her nose into his neck. “Bog,” she whispered, becoming aware of her hair sticking to her forehead and face, a thin sheen of sweat covering her all over, plastering her dress to her skin.

“Yes, Love,” he whispered back, his head turning to her as moved his arms up her back. 

“You…” she managed. It was hard for her to form words, but her mind was nagging. Her body vibrated with the aftershocks of his ministrations. And she felt the need to reciprocate. She wanted him to feel this good too. The want was so urgent it nearly felt like a need. “I want… you… I want to make you…” She shifted, planting soft kisses to his neck. “I want to make you feel this…” She kissed at his pulse under his jaw. “Let me…”

“Sshhh,” he urged softly. He took a deep breath, his chest pushing her upward, then let it out in a deep, purring sigh. “Pleasing you,” he breathed, “is good enough right now.” 

Concern melted into the back of her mind and Marianne lifted her head. She barely got a look at his face, his blue eyes gleaming in the light as she opened her mouth to speak before he kissed her. His hand that was not covered in her essence came to pull his claws gently through her hair, resting at the nape of her neck. His motions were slow, tender. She melted into him, his sweet gestures warming her insides. 

When their lips parted, she opened her eyes, his fluttering open a moment after. His crystal irises were more noticeable, the dark of his pupils having shrunk a few fractions. His face was still flushed, but not as quite as dark. And that heady expression that had set her aflame had dissipated, leaving the warm aura of his love radiating towards her. She took a deep breath, her brows creasing just slightly. “Bog-“

His lips quirked up and his expression became so soft that her words died. She felt his fingers in her hair and closed her eyes as he leaned up, kissing on her forehead between her brows. “Rest, Love,” he murmured. “Just rest.”

As if his words had authority over her body, she felt herself relax into him with a sigh. She tucked her forehead into his neck, draping her wings out to either side of them along the bed. She moved her arms, resting one along his shoulder spur and another along his chest, just high enough that she could graze her fingers under his chin. She inhaled deeply, his scent stronger than before. She smiled against his neck. “I love you,” she mumbled.

“I love you, too,” he replied softly.

They laid that way, comfortable against one another, holding one another. Gentle strokes and soft breathing lulled Marianne into a state of falling in and out of consciousness, wrapped around the man she loved. 

After a period of time she had not kept track of, half asleep and not quite paying attention, she felt a shudder ripple through Bog’s body under her, a slight arching of his back lifting her just barely. His breath ghosted over her ear, a relieved sigh loosed into the warm evening air. 

**~*~**

The darkness was thick, the waning moon merely a sliver in the night sky. A cloaked form weaved through the grass, careful not to rustle the blades. It ducked and hid periodically, stilling occasionally as the gust of a breeze or a flutter of wings passed by overhead. The figure moved with purpose, beelining towards the proud rock castle standing tall in the middle of the meadow. 

It came to a spot where the grass did not grow against the rock as a well-worn path kept the greenery at bay. The figure crouched low, hooded head darting back and forth. As the silence stretched on, it moved quickly. The figure skirted across the path with speed before meeting the rock’s surface and making its way along the wall. The cloak fluttered lightly, lifting without the aid of the breeze, the barest hint of moth wings visible at the hem. 

The figure stopped once more, the hood moving, searching, making sure no eyes had glimpsed it. It turned back to the wall, a gloved hand running along the smooth rock. Only a few seconds and a grating noise sounded, low and quiet. The figure pushed, forcing the secret opening wider. After one more quick glance over its shoulder, the figure darted into the darkness.

Low grating sounded once again and within a few more seconds the wall retained its solid appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon that goblins can purr. Like cats. But deeper.  
> Reason? Because yes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asking the right questions can get unbelievable answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.  
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.

Bog took a deep breath of the warm night air as he listened to his footsteps against the rock floor. He fiddled with his fingers, running his thumbs over and under his claws on each hand as they swayed beside him. He barely paid much heed to the mostly empty hallways as he made his trek, already having the route to Dagda’s office memorized. 

He had debated with himself about going to speak with Dagda. But the growing anxiety in his stomach was hard to fight. He had nearly talked himself out of it… what with his experience with Marianne still fresh in his mind. He felt a flutter of another kind in his stomach and a warmth under his eyes. 

Her kissing him, comforting him had not been a surprise. It fell in line with her habit as of late, trying to redirect his mind from his past misery, his dark thoughts. Her praise had surprised him, that was true. He hardly considered himself worth looking at, for more than one reason, and she knew this. And she tried valiantly to convince him of the opposite. Which he appreciated in a way he could not presently give words to. 

No, the real surprise had been her forwardness.

When his mind had cleared from the haze and he had been able to manage proper coherent thought, he realized she had had no idea what her action was going to do when she did it. He had never really talked in length with her about it, grazing the topic just barely, as he still felt rather awkward trying to discuss it. And, knowing himself as well as he did, if they had not been in the middle of a very lovely session, even if she had previously had the forwardness to touch where she did, his restraint was exceptionally strong. It would have taken a lot more than a hard, unskilled push. Nevertheless, their situation was aligned, and she had done the trick. Bog shivered lightly, the residue of being out, exposed, _uncovered_ with the woman he loved sending pleasant tingling through his body and limbs. He bit the inside of his lip, letting the sensation wash away, corralling his emotions… his urges. As much as he had loved the experience, he had forced himself to tell Marianne just how dangerous it could have been for her. 

How dangerous _he_ could have been to her.

Not that he had needed to pull the topic up on his own. Marianne, once she had woken, her own mind rested and recovered, had immediately delved into what had happened. She wanted to know what she had done wrong, why his behavior had changed, what she needed to steer away from in the future. He could have laughed. He nearly did. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Marianne. You did everything too right.” 

The confusion in her face at his words had been priceless, but he had not kept her waiting for the explanation.

To put it simply, she had lit his amorous side ablaze. Specifically, she had drawn out a part of his baser side that he usually kept under tight control. Instinctual urges he had caged under lock and key had flooded his blood when she had forcefully uncovered him. She had not realized moving that quick, that hard, would do that to him, and that was not her fault. He had assured her once more, that it was not necessarily a wrong thing either. The problem was that part of him would always react in kind. His goblin blood was strong. And goblins had a tendency to be… rough.

He had told her of interactions where cuts, bruises and bite marks were plenty, times when both male and female alike walked with limps, and even extra passionate cases where mates would simply disappear for a day or two… because they had needed to recover. Marianne’s eyes had gone wide, but the flush that colored her cheeks and ears had been telling. 

He had smiled then, her clear enjoyment of listening, learning more about him, about goblin-folk bringing a warmth to his chest. However, his need to reiterate had pressed him. He had told her truthfully.

If it had not been for the pure iron grip of self-control he had cultivated over the years, with more than a decade of practice, he could have seriously injured her.

Her disbelief, while heartwarming, could not be allowed to continue. He had leveled with her then, baring honestly that he was not inexperienced. He _had_ mated females before, though none since That Fateful Day. He knew what he was capable of, what marks he had made on others, as others had marked him. He knew what it felt like to lose himself to his base, letting those urges run wild though his blood and rule him. And with a goblin lover, that was okay. Goblins had tough hide and thick muscles. Bite marks and slashes were seen as things to be proud of, worn boldly in the light of day like well deserved battle scars. 

But with her…

He had reached out to her neck, moving her dress collar to view the mark he had made. He had not bitten her quite as hard as he could have, sheer force of will holding him in check. And yet, there were puncture marks where his fangs had sunk in, light bruising and slight cuts where his other teeth had held her. She had not winced when he had touched the spot, though he had seen clearly the discomfort that flickered across her face. He had held her to him then, resting his forehead to hers, peering into her eyes. 

“I won’t hurt you, Marianne. I can’t,” he had whispered. “I could naw live with myself if I did…”

“You won’t,” she had said with surety. “Besides, this isn’t always…” Her beautiful eyes had squinted, her nose wrinkling in that adorable way it did when she tried to find words. 

He had answered what he knew she was asking. “My base, these urges, are always there. But I can keep them caged. I can keep them under control, even in the moment. But it, heh,” he had laughed, finding it humorous in a dry way that he only had one good analogy to give her, “it’s like training an animal. All the training in the world could fall away in a moment if you do that _one_ thing to set off the reaction.” 

Her soft glare had been humorous in a genuine way. He had smiled softly, and she had smiled back, tightening her grip around him and pulling herself close. “I love you. All of you. Understand?” she had said, her voice low and gentle. 

He had held her back, allowing her warmth to surround him. “I understand. And the same is true from me. I love you, Marianne.”

They had stayed that way for a while longer, basking in the feel of the other’s presence. But he had grudgingly pulled away, insisting she relax with a bath and get some rest. She had attempted to protest, tried to suggest he stay with her. To which, he had pointed out the obvious. 

He did not fit on her bed. 

Even lounging like they did, his legs hung off the end nearly to his knees and the only way he could stay balanced on the petals well enough to keep from falling off is if he laid smack in the middle of them. Which forced Marianne off to the side, risking her falling off if either of them moved too much. He would put up with it to lay with her, but it was hardly something either of them would be comfortable with throughout the night. 

She had begrudgingly agreed but clung to him a while longer before his nimble fingers found her ticklish spots and forced her to let go.

The memory of her giggles echoed through his ears and Bog sighed contentedly. He then turned on his heel to go back to the hallway he had just passed in his reminiscing. 

Having decided to go and speak with Dagda after all, part of him worried he would blush and blunder like a nervous schoolkid who had done something he was not supposed to. Another part of him rose in indignation, more so at himself, in that he was a grown man and Marianne a grown woman. They could do whatever they pleased, and whenever they pleased. He shook his head, trying to alleviate that particular anxiety.

As much as he fought with himself about _that_ there was a far more pressing issue. One that, in the end, he knew he needed to bring up. Otherwise, it would eat at him from the inside out. 

He had a good handle on where Dagda stood on this mess with the Misty Rivers and that was all the more reason to tell him his thoughts. Perhaps it would not go well but considering his earlier comments to Dawn and Marianne… his instincts may be correct.

He took another calming breath as he turned a corner, eyes catching Dagda’s office door at the far end. There were guards posted at the door, but he noticed that one of them happened to be Rex, Dagda’s captain. As he closed the distance, he nodded to the two. 

Rex nodded back with a slight bow. “Your Majesty,” he hailed respectfully. 

“Fair Night to you, Rex,” Bog addressed, surprising himself that he remembered the fairy pleasantry for late night. “Is Dagda refusing visitors?” He would have rather asked why Rex was personally standing guard but thought better of it.

Rex shook his head. “Not at all.” He gestured to the other guard who opened the door. 

Bog raised a brow, but Rex only gave a mild smirk and a nod.

Bog nodded back, stepping into the room. Immediately, the smell of strong tobacco smoke hit his nostrils and a pleased hum escaped him before he could stop himself. His eyes landed near the lit fireplace, seeing Dagda in one of the cushy chairs, carved pipe in hand, a glass of amber liquid on the small side-table next to him. He was facing more the fireplace, partially turned from the door, seemingly deep in thought. However, Bog could feel a tickle at the back of his neck, feeling an impression of somehow still being seen without eyes on him. That feeling strangely eased a fraction as he heard the door of the office close.

“Come on over, Bog. Help yourself to a glass.” Dagda finally looked at him as he gestured to the liquor cabinet. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who could use one.” 

Bog let out a huff of a laugh as he meandered through the space. “I think I’ll take you up on that, thank you. What are you smoking?” he asked.

“You smoke?” Dagda came back amiably. 

“Not regularly,” Bog answered. He noticed as he picked a glass from the top of the cabinet that the bottle of snapdragon rum was gone. He bit the inside of his lip as he grabbed the open bottle of what looked to be a whisky. “But I do so every now and again. Though, I usually lean towards the more subtle blends.”

Dagda chuckled. “Yeah, this isn’t for everyone.” He let out a slight huff. “All the focus is on the Misty Rivers right now, and this is no different it seems. It’s a strong leaf they grow on the mountainside, dried and mixed with several spices. Quite a kick.”

An odd mix of emotions came forward at Dagda’s words and tone of voice. The man sounded like he was reliving a painful memory. Bog forced a smile as he set the whisky down, turning to take the few steps to the companion chair next to Dagda. “Smells like it,” he commented, glancing up as he sat. 

Bog’s eyes went wide as he froze. 

He had not had a good look at Dagda just yet, only now directly observing him in the firelight. Concern immediately flooded him as he regarded the older man, sitting with his wings draped out of the sides of the chair, his crown taken off and his armor removed. He may have stared anyway as this was technically the first time he had ever seen his fellow king without his armor. 

However, what really drew his worry was the fact that Dagda was _thin_. 

The bulbous belly of armor that he had become accustomed to was clearly _not_ accurate as he regarded Dagda’s midsection. Sure, he was not quite to slender form, sporting somewhat of a thicker trunk than he had seen on other males of Dagda’s age, but he was hardly as large or round as his armor made him appear. 

Bog abruptly realized he was staring, but he knew he could not contain his shock as he met Dagda’s gaze. 

Dagda did not seem insulted, however, and while his expression was oddly blank, he did raise a brow. “You alright there?” he asked, as if oblivious to himself being a seated contradiction.

Bog blinked. “Are you?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Dagda’s eyes went wide, his brows up. “What do you mean?”

Bog sat up. “Dagda, are you… are you alright?” he asked. He tried not to let the concern overwhelm him, but it was difficult. “You’ve lost weight. Is that a good thing?” Bog rolled with the assumption that, at some point, Dagda _had_ fit into his armor. It was the only thing that made sense. He could not see any reason why someone would purposely put on a show that they were… well, more rotund than they actually were. Which meant that Dagda had lost a considerable amount of weight. What was worse, was it seemed he did not want anyone to know.

“Most people would consider it a good thing, Bog,” Dagda said with a smile, raising his glass to take a sip.

Bog stood his ground, staring at the older king. He was not going to allow Dagda to deflect.

Dagda lowered his glass, leveling his own stare. 

They continued staring at each other. 

Dagda heaved a sigh. “You didn’t come all this way this late to ask about my health.” His tone was still amiable, but the expression on his face held just a hint of something. Not quite a warning, not quite a plea, not quite a threat. But something nonetheless.

Bog gripped his glass tighter, narrowing his eyes a fraction. “You are correct. That was not my _original_ reason.” He sealed his lips and kept his gaze straight. He would not back down. 

Part of him found it odd how fond he had become of the older king over the last few months. Truth was, Dagda had surprised him. Continuously. He had not held a high opinion of him originally, his fatherly affiliation to Marianne meaningless aside from the need to be courteous to the neighboring ruler. However, Dagda had proven he was far more thoughtful and capable than his original actions had made him appear. In fact, while unspoken between them, it was clear Dagda had tried to make up for his miscalculations towards Bog during their first official meeting. And Bog, also unspoken between them, had attempted to do the same. Truthfully, having thought about it after the fact, he could have handled the Potion fiasco a whole lot better than he had, despite the fact that it had ended as well as it could have. He had never apologized for being so rash in his actions. Neither had Dagda. But they had both worked with one another and towards one another in a way that conveyed the sincere desire to better their actions and strengthen this new relationship. They had managed a gently blooming trust towards one another. A trust that had allowed them to get to know one another better, and not simply because one was courting the other’s daughter. As such, Bog felt his concern was warranted and genuinely needed to know that Dagda was well.

However, the older king was nearly as stubborn as his mother.

They were still staring at one another.

Dagda sighed again, rolling his eyes as he pushed further into his chair. “Alright, _fine_. You first.”

Bog blinked. “What?”

Dagda made a face, taking another sip of whisky. “You first. Tell me what you came here to talk about. Then, I’ll talk. Fair?” he asked, raising a silver brow.

Bog huffed lightly, slouching into the chair. “Alright then. Fair.”

Dagda quirked a wry smile averting his eyes to the fire. He brought his pipe to his lips, pulling a drag, the glow of the bowl flaring for a brief moment before he blew the smoke out through his nose. “Well, go on,” he urged, some remaining smoke following his words. 

Bog averted his own eyes to stare at the fire as well. His original anxiety started to come back to him as he thought about what was on his mind. He remained silent for several moments, carefully mulling over how he should proceed. Finally, he decided straight and to the point was best. “Dagda… how much do you trust Prince Cole?”

Dagda was silent. 

Bog ventured a glance, noticing Dagda’s gaze entrenched in the flames in front of him. Another pull on the pipe and the embers in the bowl glowed brighter this time, causing the shadows over his eyes to flutter away. Bog could not help but feel an odd disquiet at how the light played on the older king’s features. There was something about his expression, the way it was schooled at that moment. As if something was hiding under that silver hair and those brilliant emerald motes… something only the fire seemed to breathe life into.

Bog looked away, disturbed by his own thoughts, nearly forgetting his question. 

“I would like to think I could trust Cole as much as I do his father,” Dagda’s quiet voice spoke amongst the crackle of the fire. “However…” Bog’s gaze darted back, seeing a fleeting shadow cross Dagda’s expression, “I think we both know I have trusted the wrong person before.” 

Dagda’s eyes suddenly caught his and Bog nearly flinched. Roland’s visage briefly drifted across his memory and he bit back a scowl at the muddy image. 

“Why do you ask, Bog?”

He took a deep breath, looking to the glass in his grip as he leaned forward to rest his elbows to his knees. It seemed a strange thing to warrant suspicion, but it had left him with a deep unease in his gut. “He was too fast,” he answered. 

“Too fast?”

Bog nodded. “He reacted near instantly today. When the councilor drew his sword.” He ran one thumb over the other against the glass as he replayed the memory. “I had my eyes on him the whole time after he removed his hood. The only time I looked away was when the councilor spoke.” He tightened his lips and shook his head. “He did naw have the time to gauge the situation so quickly. I can’t even say he laid eyes on me before he addressed me.” He looked back to Dagda, his expression hard. “Something is wrong with that, Dagda,” he said, hoping to convey his sincerity. He knew it was only instinct screaming at him of the strangeness, but his instincts were one of his best tools. They did not often fail him, and he did not want to start doubting them now.

Dagda met his gaze and held it for a moment before looking to the fire thoughtfully. “Did any of his guard see you?” he asked suddenly.

Bog blinked. “Aye, all of them had eyes on me,” he answered, confusion clear in his voice.

Dagda nodded, taking another drag of the pipe, allowing the smoke to billow out from his nose. “Then it may not be as out of line as you think,” he said. “Are you aware of what a mind-link is?”

Bog stared. He had heard of it, that much was true. But it was thought to be rumors, myths of fairy magic that did not actually exist except in stories to scare little ones into behaving. “I’ve heard,” he said simply.

Dagda nodded once more. “It is not nearly as common as it once was, however, the ability is still in use under certain circumstances. Its most vital usage, and most well-known, is that between a royal and the captain of their personal guard. I myself have one with Rex. Onyx has one with his captain, Arion. And I’ve suspected for years now that Cole has established his own link with his captain, Lexenios.”

“Ye’re loon’in me!” Bog shot before he could stop himself. His own incredulousness prevented a blunder at his outburst during what was supposed to be a serious discussion.

Dagda, despite the situation, chuckled. “No Bog, I’m being quite truthful with you.” His humor died however, and he took a deep breath. “The mind-link is quite real, and we fae can use it towards whoever we like. Though the practice has died down in these later generations, as not many are inclined to hone the skill anymore.”

Bog was quiet, letting his stunned disbelief wash away from him. He abruptly remembered only minutes ago, that feeling of being watched, and how Rex had simply had the office door opened, not bothering to knock or announce him to Dagda. He pushed back his unease at the concept and considered the new information. _I suppose, then, that would explain it…_ “So, his captain is present,” he stated more than asked.

“Yes,” Dagda answered. “He is the one with short cropped hair and the metal pauldron, the one wielding the short-handled halberd.”

Bog nodded. “I see. He was eyeing me just as strongly as the others.” _So. Perhaps I am over-_

“That can’t be all, though.”

Bog’s eyes shot to Dagda. His gaze was at the fire, but he got the intense sensation that he was somehow still within the older king’s sights. “What?” he prodded.

“That’s not all. There’s more to why you feel suspicious of him.” Dagda leveled a sidelong glance at him. “What is it, Bog?”

Bog fought the urge to swallow his nerves. This whole situation was nerve-wracking enough without Dagda having come clean about the reality of a mind-link and now making him think perhaps the man was using it on him. _What does that even feel like?_ he wondered absently. He forced a deep breath and took his eyes away, trying to focus on the more pressing matter at hand. His brows drew down as he failed to come up with any words to justify his anxious misgivings about the prince. _Maybe a mind-link would be better_ , he thought wryly. He let his breath out in a sigh and resigned himself. “Nothing I can put words to,” he admitted with a shake of his head. 

“Hmm.”

He did not look to Dagda as he heard him shift his weight slightly in his seat. He knew he had a weak argument. Quite simply, there was just nothing presently to give as any evidence aside from what he had already provided, and with that having a feasible explanation, albeit an as of yet unproven one, there was not anything else to go on except a general unease derived from the way the prince carried himself. That was hardly enough to win an argument on the matter when the man he wanted to convince was a damnear brother to the prince’s father. He huffed a small breath through his nose and finally took a drink of his whisky.

“Keep me informed, would you?”

Bog went rigid, nearly swallowing his drink wrong. He lowered his glass, regarding the other king in unshielded surprise. “Dagda?”

Dagda did not meet his gaze. He continued pulling on the pipe, eyes still directed to the fire. He was quiet for a few moments too long, as if he himself was contemplating proper words. “There may be something to your concern. I want you to keep me informed if anything comes up that points in that direction.” He finally met Bog’s eyes with his own. “If you would.”

Bog remained still but allowed his head to lower as he held Dagda’s gaze. “I will,” he responded. “But, now its your turn.” He had his instincts goading him. Dagda evidently had his own. Perhaps he was not overreacting. 

Dagda heaved a sigh, slow and lengthy, as if a great weight had been placed on his shoulders. “You saw me going through my letters earlier. I wasn’t only looking for some missed communication on my part,” he said. Bog watched as Dagda’s expression became harder, his eyes steely as he looked at the fire. “For years now, Onyx has filtered his correspondence to me and from me through his son.”

Bog sat up at that point, resting his hands to his knees, his glass held tightly in the one. The anxiety in his stomach bubbled at that statement. “Why?” he asked simply.

“Onyx has slowly phased his son into his workings and responsibilities as king, first as an observer and then as a participant. His way of teaching has always been rather hands-on, and really, for Cole, I think it has worked. So, when he decided to have Cole first read our messages to one another and then write some of them, I wasn’t surprised.” Dagda paused a moment too long, eyes unblinking as he seemed caught in his thoughts. “He wouldn’t write all of his father’s messages for him. I could usually tell when it was Onyx writing and Cole writing. Which can be tricky, as Cole’s handwriting is very similar to his father’s. In fact, over the years, it has become near identical.” Dagda paused again, thumb stroking the bowl of his pipe absently. “And I think that is the problem. This has been going on for years. And I’ve become so used to Cole simply transcribing his father’s words that I stopped paying attention to when it was him writing or Onyx.”

Bog stared. He did _not_ like the dread that was slowly creeping from his stomach and into his chest. “And?” he questioned.

Dagda noticeably bit the inside of his lip. “Cole’s handwriting is _nearly_ identical to Onyx’. There are small things in the way certain letters are curved and punctuations added that you would miss if you weren’t looking for them. So, I looked.” Dagda pulled another drag from the pipe, taking a moment to hold the smoke in before billowing it out through his nose once more. 

“Cole has been penning the letters to me for at least eight months.”

Bog clenched his fists, the fingers of the one hand tightening dangerously around the glass in his grip, his lips drawing into a thin line. “And you have reason to be concerned.”

Dagda was silent at first. He continued watching the fire as if deep in thought. “I’ve not had any reason in the past to doubt Cole. I’ve not had a reason not to trust him or his allegiance to his father or to his kingdom.” He paused, his steely eyes narrowing. “But something is wrong. It doesn’t matter how little this ‘border dispute’ may be. Onyx would have told me. And the fact that there is no mention until now is the biggest red flag they could have thrown my way.”

Bog observed Dagda closely. The man was genuinely concerned, there was no doubt about it. His tense shoulders, his tight grip on the pipe… his burning gaze. “Are you sure?” Bog asked. “Are you absolutely sure you aren’t reading too much into this?” He thought the question odd coming from him, considering his own doubts. But the question had to be asked. 

Dagda nodded, the motion sharp. “Yes. I assure you Bog,” he looked to the younger king pointedly, “Onyx would have told me.”

Bog held the stare, taking in the conviction reflected in the older king’s eyes. “So, what are you going to do?”

“We,” Dagda said, “are going to watch Cole and the council. Watch their every move. Listen to every word.”

Bog nodded. “And what about Onyx?” he pressed. “If you believe he hasn’t been the one speaking to you, then you should try to contact him now while Cole is here.”

Dagda nodded, slower this time. “Yes, I should. Though, normal channels may be seen as suspicious.”

“Certainly, you don’t have any obligation to inform them of your contacting the King?” Bog shot. 

“No, I don’t,” Dagda agreed. “However, I cannot rule out the possibility that any communications are being monitored. Whether they stop a runner here or on the border or even if they have people across the border who would do so.”

Bog’s brows drew down. His fists were tight, his form tense, his wings rigid. Dagda’s utter seriousness about this was unsettling in the worst possible way. “You have to try,” he urged. 

“I do. And I will. But this has to be done carefully. I cannot risk them catching wind of my suspicion.” 

“You make it sound as if you think the Misty Rivers Kingdom is already at war with itself.” 

Dagda took a deep breath at that. “For all I know, it could be,” he said, his voice gravelly in his throat. “If I have truly been cut off from Onyx for eight months, there’s no telling what has been happening at the foot of the mountains.” With that, he let out a sigh and stood, making his way to his desk.

Bog clenched his teeth, watching him walk. He narrowed his eyes, his newer concern from earlier coming back to him.

Dagda had indeed thinned quite a bit. Without the armor in the way to hide the fact, it was suddenly so blatant. He observed as Dagda turned at his desk, facing forward as he fiddled with his tobacco pouch and pipe case. Bog realized, upon close inspection, that even Dagda’s face had thinned at the jaw, his beard having hid it when paired with his armor. Without the metal collar and shoulder hinges of his armor in the way, Dagda currently wearing a high collared, long sleeved tunic, it was obvious his neck had slimmed as well. Bog could not help but notice how much easier Dagda seemed to move without the armor, again making him wonder why he would continue to wear it. He blinked and glanced away as he looked back on his memory. Had the rotundness of the abdominal plate actually gotten smaller over the last three months? Or was he just imagining it now that he was looking at Dagda without it. 

He looked back as he heard Dagda opening his desk drawer and watched him put the pipe case away. He continued watching unabashedly as Dagda made his way back. He tilted his head, noticing something more.

Regardless of what extra weight was still left, Dagda’s build seemed… muscular. He surprised himself with that observation, but it was clear as day, looking at the older king without the metal hindering his form, and it was not simply creative tailoring of the tunic either. His shoulders were broad, his arms thick and his chest tapering into his now unobstructed abdomen was well formed. His body seemed more filled out than other fairy men, slim and willowy usually being the norm even amongst males. Even Roland, with his fuller upper body had a slimmer profile. 

Dagda fluttered his wings out to the sides of the chair, seating himself once more and reaching for his glass. “I can pose for you if you like,” he commented, humor lacing his voice as he glanced to Bog with a smirk. 

Bog blinked in surprise. He knew he should be somewhat ashamed of watching Dagda so closely, but instead he was both concerned and now confused. The man seated in front of him did not match what he had become familiar with. Instead of attempting to joke back or even apologizing for his staring he decided their agreement needed to be met. “It’s your turn now, Dagda,” he said quietly. 

Dagda’s expression marred. It was hard to decipher the emotions on his face as he lowered his glass, staring at the amber liquid that seemed to glow while backlit by the fire. 

He remained quiet for several moments, and Bog decided to remain quiet with him. He would wait as long as Dagda needed. But he would not back down. For his own piece of mind, if not also for Marianne’s. He doubted she knew about this development. Probably no one did except for perhaps Rex. 

Dagda breathed in deeply, eyes never moving. He let the air out slowly as if preparing himself for something. 

Bog bit the inside of his lip, feeling his concern mounting. _What’s going on, Dagda_ , he asked mentally. He suddenly felt his mind echoing Marianne’s sentiments from earlier in the day. _“I can’t do anything about it if I don’t know.”_

As if reading his mind, Dagda’s first words did not help his worrying. “Before I say anything… I want you to promise me not to say a word of this conversation to Marianne.”

Bog swallowed nervously. He studied Dagda’s face, which had remained unchanged. Which was not helping. He huffed lightly out his nose. “Alright,” he said lowly. “I promise.”

“And nothing to Dawn or Sunny either,” Dagda followed up. “In fact, don’t say anything to anyone. This is to stay in this room.”

 _I swear to the heavens Dagda if you’re dying, I will kill you,_ Bog thought, clenching his teeth. _No, certainly it isn’t that. It couldn’t be..._ He knew it was ridiculous for him to try to will something into existence, but for once he hoped the power of thought could actually do something. Or at least he hoped that random conclusion was as wrong as wrong could get. “As you wish,” he said simply.

Dagda seemed to relax at this, taking a moment to toy with the glass in his hand, slowly rotating it with his fingers. “Thank you.” He then pressed his lips together and seemed to grimace. “Yes, I’ve lost weight, though that was hardly in question,” he started. “And yes, it could be considered a good thing. Because, I’ll admit I needed to,” he added flatly, nearly rolling his eyes. He then heaved a sigh. “But no… it isn’t because I’ve suddenly become so invested in my health.” He then looked away pointedly. “Although, that isn’t entirely true either.”

Bog scrunched his brows down in confusion. “Oh?” he managed.

Dagda huffed lightly. “I’m not dying if that’s what your concern is,” he said quickly, once again as if reading his mind.

 _Please don’t be reading my mind,_ Bog thought, quite suddenly overwhelmed with the precarious mental balancing act of both remembering and trying not to remember his earlier activities with Marianne. He cleared his throat. “Ah. Well. I am… glad to hear that. I will admit, I had started to drift to that conclusion.”

“I can see how you would. I can see how many would,” Dagda conceded. “That’s why I’ve tried to keep this from becoming too obvious. Though, it is getting taxing,” Dagda said, putting his glass down on the side table to lean into his hand and rub at his temples. 

Bog felt frustration welling despite himself. “Dagda… this isn’t answering-“

“It’s hard to answer,” Dagda cut him off. “The answer is really a mix of things. Things I’d rather not say aloud,” he all but whispered.

Bog closed his lips tightly. He waited, trying to be patient as he worried his own glass still in his hand. 

Dagda remove his hand from his forehead to lean his cheek to his fist, staring into the fire. His expression was suddenly somber, almost wistful. “You know, when you showed up three months ago… I realized something.”

Bog went absolutely still, waiting. 

“It was a hard realization. One that came with not a little anger and wrecking of the very room we’re sitting in,” Dagda continued. 

Bog swallowed hard.

“I realized I had become complacent.”

Bog tilted his head, feeling very much like a confused child. He fought viciously to keep his mouth shut, however, not wanting to interrupt, not wanting to miss what Dagda had to say. Especially, since it seemed so hard for him.

Dagda indeed continued, apparently unphased by Bog’s silence. “I had become complacent in the peace I had created in my kingdom. In the peace that I so desperately wanted to believe was untouchable. My kingdom was a sanctuary. Not only for my people, but for others who would journey here, though more importantly, for myself and my daughters. They have grown up happy, unaffected by the harsh realities of war or even rumors of war. They have had plenty, both in frivolous things and necessities. They have been free to pursue their own happiness, whatever avenue that might follow. The only real hitch was Roland.” Dagda’s expression darkened. “And especially where he was concerned… I was so _blind_ ,” he hissed.

Bog felt himself leaning away, his natural wariness warning him as he observed the sudden change in Dagda. 

It was the same as earlier that afternoon. While his face had changed, accommodating a deep frown and brows drawn downward, it was those emerald eyes of his that really showed his emotion. Those emerald motes sparked with a raw intensity that the fire in the hearth in front of them should have been envious of. 

“So many things happened at once, at least so it seemed to my mind.” Dagda continued. “You made your appearance and your capture so easily, proving I was off guard, incapable. Roland showed his true colors, proving I had been blind to his nature. Marianne finally told me what had happened between them, further proving how I had become so oblivious. Even Dawn getting together with Sunny, all the signs pointing to his feelings toward her, proved how out of touch I had become with the lives of my own daughters and subjects, the people I had sworn to protect and have done so much to ensure their safety and happiness.” 

Bog heard a crack of a knuckle and the telltale sound of skin against skin as Dagda tightened his fists. He glanced to both, the one still at his cheek and the one at the arm of the chair, noting that his knuckles had gone white. 

“All of this together only served to prove that I had been so utterly engrossed in the reality I had sought to create, thought I had achieved… that I had willfully thrown away the fact that true reality doesn’t work that way.” Dagda’s voice had lowered dangerously to a growl. 

Bog remained quiet and utterly still. 

Dagda finally closed his eyes, those emerald pools that somehow put fire to shame, loosening his fist to cover his eyes with his hand. “It was so sudden. It was as if a wall of water had crashed into me. But instead of water… it was shame,” he whispered.

Bog’s gasp was tiny, barely audible, but it seemed to echo through the room. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dagda continued.

“That shame filled every fiber of my being and I was all at once disgusted by who I had become. It was as if a veil had been lifted, a bewitched mirror smashed so that my carefully constructed world shattered and the truth came crashing down in thousands of tiny shards. I suddenly became aware that I had become the very thing I used to hate. The thing I hated more than anything else I had ever encountered in my life.”

Bog stared, tense, afraid to move or even breathe lest he break this waterfall of revelation.

Dagda lowered his hand, the lower half of his face obstructed as he resumed glaring into the flames.

“I had become a broken man.”

Bog felt lightheaded. The mix of emotions swirling around at Dagda’s words were dizzying and he was having a hard time understanding what he was hearing. He slowly shook his head, looking away, as if understanding may pop up out of the floor. Finally, he had to concede that he honestly was not grasping what Dagda was saying. He shook his head again. “Dagda… I don’t… what do you mean?” 

Dagda closed his eyes, but otherwise did not move. “This has been a long, long process. Something happening so slowly that I did not even realize what was going on until three months ago. I had thought- well. I hadn’t thought as much as I should have. Perhaps I couldn’t.” His eyes drifted open and were quite suddenly filled with sorrow. “I suppose that would be the case. I nearly lost all capability of thought for a whole month.” He let out a cold laugh. “I damnear died, if I’m being honest, which I suppose is the whole point of this.”

Bog held his gaze, as if he could glean understanding by sight alone.

Dagda smiled. An overwhelmingly sad smile that just did not seem to have a place on his face. 

“This all started the day my wife died.”

Bog felt a sliver of pain shoot through his chest for Dagda. Of course, he had not experienced such a thing, however, with that sentence all he could think of was his mother… the day his father died.

“What nearly killed me wasn’t even that she died, ironically,” Dagda said. “No… what got to me is that she died from something I had no control over. Something I couldn’t save her from no matter how much I wanted to.”

Bog’s eyes drifted. He remembered Marianne telling him.

Wing Rot. 

A disease he was not familiar with, but one that claimed plenty a fairy. It was not a common disease he had been told but devastating none-the-less. Because there was no cure. If a fairy got it, then they had it. And either they died from it, or it claimed their wings and they never flew again. Those of the latter situation usually ended up passing sooner anyway, their bodies weakened overall from the sickness.

“Dagda-“

“You know a fae can die from losing their partner.”

Bog snapped his mouth shut. 

“If it hadn’t been for Onyx, the only person I’m closest to besides Vivian, I may have,” Dagda recounted softly. “I had thought I had survived it. I had come out, wounded, but still strong. And perhaps I was at first.” He closed his eyes, covering them with his hand. “But I see now that over the years I’ve slowly spiraled into this obsession with a peace, warmth and happiness that I had known beforehand did not exist except via careful watch and protection. I’ve ridden on my reputation while slowly sinking further into the brokenness that I’ve pretended I escaped from.” He let out a dry laugh. “Even Onyx tried to talk sense into me, I realize now. I remember those conversations, and how sure I was his concerns were misplaced. But I can see it looking back. He was right.” Dagda shook his head under his hand. “He usually is.”

Bog took a deep breath, feeling winded by all Dagda had unloaded. He looked at the man across from him and had to resist horribly the urge to reach over and lay a hand on his shoulder. He was not sure if Dagda would want any kind of contact right now. So perhaps words were better. “Dagda,” he said in a quiet voice, “I think perhaps you’re being rather hard on yourself. It isn’t unfathomable that you would want to provide such things for your daughters, especially having lost their mother. No one could blame you for that. No one _should_ blame you for that.”

Dagda heaved a sigh, running a hand through his longish silver hair. “It isn’t that I would want peace and safety for my daughters, my people, Bog,” he responded. “It’s that I lost myself so wholly to the idea of such things being untouchable… that I used it as a coping mechanism.” He opened his eyes and stared into the flames once more, though there was a sheen to his eyes that had not been there before. “I broke myself in trying _not_ to brake.” He was quiet for a moment, eyes on the flames but not seeing them. “I turned into someone I’ve never been, someone I would never have wanted to be. Complacent is the word I used because it’s really the only one I can think of. I became such and was desperate to keep it that way.”

Bog was silent at that, turning to look into the fire as well. In a way, he could see what Dagda meant. He had seen something of it when they had first met. But this “complacency” as Dagda called it had disappeared so quickly that he had thought he had misread the other king. Apparently, that had not been the case. He still felt Dagda was being hard on himself, however. Especially if he was taking it out on himself by refusing to eat. Sure, he may have needed to lose weight, but was one unnecessary self-punishment really a fair trade for another? He took a deep breath to speak these words, when Dagda cut him off.

“I really should thank you, you know.”

His head whipped around. “Eh?” He blinked, feeling rather dumb through the surprise.

Dagda let out a chuckle. “If you hadn’t have done what you did…” He shook his head. “You were the catalyst, Bog. If it hadn’t been for you, I would not have realized just how far from my former self I had fallen.” A small smile graced his lips, a warm smile, though his expression still held that underlying sorrow. “If you had pulled that stunt a decade earlier, you would never have made it off that stage.”

Bog quirked a small smile of his own at those words. “Oh really?” he chided softly.

Dagda’s emerald gaze moved to view him from the corner of his eyes. “Oh really,” he affirmed. 

Bog was taken aback by yet another sudden shift in the other king. The small smile was there, that soulfulness still displayed on his face. But the tone of his voice and the spark in his eyes caught his attention. Bog narrowed his own, his mind choosing that moment to remember a particular string of words Dagda had spoken. _“I’ve ridden on my reputation while slowly sinking further into the brokenness”…_ Bog tightened his grip on his glass still in his hand. _What reputation would that be, exactly?_ He refrained from asking that exact question, choosing his words more carefully. “Dagda? Are you really so different from who you used to be? You speak as if you are an utterly different person from your past self. I find that hard to believe.”

Dagda let out another laugh, dry, humorless. “In kindness and attitude, I may not have changed much. But there is too much that has.”

Bog’s brows drew down in confusion. “How so?” he asked, the words creeping out slowly. 

Dagda caught Bog’s eyes and seemed to simply stare for a few moments, his expression having become unreadable.

Bog held the line of sight, refusing to look away, burning curiosity and a strange sense of foreboding overtaking him. 

Dagda’s hand, which had rested at the back of his neck, now stroked his beard in thought, his eyes finally drifting away to once again stare into the fire. He narrowed them a fraction, his brow creased minutely.

Bog tilted his head, waiting, unsure of what was going through the older king’s mind.

Then, Dagda’s head tilted upward, and he blinked, gaze never leaving the hearth. “Do not cross him, or suffer the wrath brought on red wings with tails of fire.” He said the words slowly as if reciting the lyrics of a barely known song. “No one stands, no matter their lands… if they wrong…” he stopped, eyes still on the fireplace.

Bog waited, sure that there was more, but unsure why Dagda had stopped. He bit the inside of his lip as the words Dagda had uttered replayed in his head over and over. Consternation kicked in as they rang with familiarity, and not simply because Dagda bore dark red wings.

The words themselves, the slight tones Dagda had pitched while speaking them, were familiar. Strikingly familiar. 

It was a lyric, or a rhyme, or saying of some sort, something that was common enough that he had heard it spoken throughout the Dark Forest even. Otherwise it would not prick at his mind as it did, the familiar ring to it digging at his mind incessantly as the seconds ticked by. 

Bog stared hard at Dagda’s profile, wondering if he should be frustrated or angry that the other king had completely stopped talking, stroking his beard as if he had not said a word. All the while, those words replayed in his mind.

_Do not cross him,_

_Or suffer the wrath brought on red wings with tails of fire._

_No one stands,_

_No matter their lands,_

_If they wrong…_

His breath halted in his lungs. His body went stock still, as if he had suddenly been turned to stone. His shoulders felt heavy and his wings had frozen in place. _It can’t be,_ his mind whispered, finally remembering the rest of the last sentence. His eyes never left Dagda’s face. His shock flooded his insides, numbing him as he tried to comprehend. What he knew of Dagda, the man he had come to know, did _not_ match in any way with what that very man was now suggesting. _But he said that, now didn’t he,_ the back of his mind breathed. _He’s become so very different from what he once was._ The image of earlier in the day, the way his eyes held such intense fury. The way he smiled with thinly veiled viciousness when in this very office. The way his eyes sparked as he had told without words just how horribly Bog’s choice could have gone had the years been different. These were all hints. Hints that were suddenly so very blatant _. I can’t believe this._

Abruptly, an image washed though his mind: The items on the wall that Dagda had such a hard time keeping his eyes off of. 

They were whips. 

They had confused him at first, once he had noticed them. Especially, with their odd design and how they appeared blackened, as if charred, though somehow not damaged in any way. But now… now it all made sense.

Those whips were his tails of fire.

His red wings were those red wings of wrath.

No one had ever stood against him if they had dared to challenge him, if they had wronged him.

Ever.

Bog finally took a breath, nearly gasping as he realized how shallow he had been breathing. His eyes never left Dagda’s face. And Dagda remained staring at the dying flames in the hearth, stroking his beard patently. 

“It’s you,” Bog managed in a low voice, just above a whisper. 

“You are the King of Fire.”

**~*~**

Bog sat on the stone bench of the flight balcony of his rooms. He had been alternating between sitting and pacing for the better part of an hour at least, he was sure. He knew he should try to sleep, as it was well past midnight and into the early morning hours. Though, daylight had yet to breach the horizon. 

However, the task felt impossible.

He was on edge. The myriad of emotions playing about his insides was sickening but also exhilarating. He did not know what to think about what he had learned. He was not sure if he should think anything in particular at all. But the revelations and their meanings, their implications, played through his head at a constant. As did the song.

The entirety of it.

*

_Do not cross him,_

_Or suffer the wrath brought on red wings with tails of fire._

_No one stands,_

_No matter their lands,_

_If they wrong the King of Fire._

_Do not cross him,_

_Or suffer the pain delivered on midnight wings with rod of ice._

_No one stands,_

_No matter their lands,_

_If they wrong the King of Ice._

_Do not cross them,_

_Or suffer their wings – the strongest of kings,_

_The darkest of night,_

_The brightest of light,_

_No one stands,_

_No matter their lands,_

_If they wrong the Kings of Fire and Ice._

*

Bog’s pulse quickened just hearing the words in his head. It did not matter that they had repeatedly trilled through his mind dozens of times now. Each time the song chimed through his skull, feeling like a war bell in a watch tower, his pulse spiked, his wings rattled and he had to fight the urge to get up and pace again. He was not sure whether it was anxiety or excitement that flooded his veins. 

Dagda.

King Dagda of the Green Meadows, his neighboring kingdom, was the legendary King of Fire.

He had asked the next question anyway, in a daze, despite the fact that the answer was blatantly obvious.

If Dagda was the King of Fire, then that could only mean Onyx…

King Onyx of the Misty Rivers, the northern kingdom at the foot of the mountains, was the legendary King of Ice.

He remembered the song now that its words had dredged the memories to the surface. He had been but a young lad, not much past five years of age when he had first heard those verses. They had meant nothing to him at that time, too young to understand. But the song was a constant. An ever present, if sometimes unnoticed, backdrop to his life growing up. When he got older, started being trained in the mastery of weaponry and the art of combat at the age of ten, his father had mentioned the Kings of Fire and Ice. He had said the young prince could be legendary, just like them, if he tried hard, trained diligently. Bog had asked so many questions then. Who were they? What did they do? Where were they from? Why did they have a song about them? 

“Are they great fighters like you, Da?” he had asked.

His father had grinned brightly. “They are leagues grander than I could ever be, boy.”

He had not believed his father, his Da being the best there ever was in his eyes. But he had been regaled with stories during his training sessions. Stories of how the Kings of Fire and Ice had conquered the wild sprites who had attacked from the western ranges, selflessly protecting the small towns and villages that called no kingdom home; how they had eradicated the necrotic swamp wraiths that had tried to consume land and people; how they had beaten back the invading forces of the east, both kings personally combatting the banshees that commanded the armies before taking their djinn rulers head-on; and they had even been said to have defeated the nightmarish body-snatching golems of the mountain caves, their bravery and resolve the only thing that kept the golems from infesting the kingdoms and devouring thousands.

They were truly legends.

And one of them ruled the kingdom that had been along his border his whole life. 

Who was now his ally.

And also father to the woman he was courting. 

Bog jumped to his feet for the umpteenth time since returning to his rooms, giving in to the urge to pace the balcony. His stomach fluttered with his steps and his limbs trembled, his wings shivering behind him periodically as he turned and walked. He repeated several laps, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

“Why am I so bloody giddy!?” he shouted to himself, throwing his arms up and clawing the air as he turned once more. 

_Because I thought they weren’t real._

His mental admission stopped his feet and he stared at the floor, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides.

“That’s right,” he said to himself. 

He had thought they were just stories. He had thought, the older he got, realizing how grandiose these tales were, that the Kings of Fire and Ice were just characters, dreamt up to motivate future soldiers and warriors to train their hardest, push their limits. He had thought the stories were simply fables concocted to teach lessons of bravery, chivalry and instill the virtue of protecting the weak and innocent.

But…

They were real. 

Dagda was a living breathing man who had sat next to him by the fireplace. A man he had worked with for the last three months. A man he had come to respect. A man he had become fond of, protective of even, if he was honest with himself. 

Certainly, this same man would not lie about something so mythical. Right?

Right. Dagda was no liar. And the seriousness of his demeanor, the emotion and utter realism of _everything_ he had shared tonight could not be taken for an act.

This was real.

The Kings of Fire and Ice existed.

And one of them needed help.

Bog tensed, his fists clenching tightly. Onyx, the King of Ice. His kingdom was at its own throat. Half his people were against him. His other authoritative half, the Court Council of the Misty Rivers was blatantly toxic. He had been struggling to keep his realm together for more than a decade, perhaps several decades, working against a growing tide. And now, his closest friend and comrade, Dagda, the King of Fire, knew he had been cut off from him for at least eight months. 

And there was no telling what had happened during that excruciating stretch of time. Or what was going on right now.

Bog grimaced, his glare hot enough to burn a hole in the floor. 

Dagda had stated the obvious when he had noted that Bog knew exactly what Onyx was trying to prevent. He did know. All too well. The past was written all over his body, glaring at him every time he looked into a mirror, and it lurked behind his eyes if he let his thoughts wander too far into the recesses of his memory. 

Hopefully being the legend that he was, King Onyx had managed to throw his weight around long enough to keep the inevitable at bay. But maybe that weight had shifted, and his reputation no longer meant anything. Perhaps it had shifted because someone had tipped the scales. Someone who should have been trustworthy.

What if it was already too late?

Bog closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. _We’ll get to the bottom of this,_ he thought. He let his breath out slowly, trying to calm himself. _We’re in the dark. We don’t know what’s going on yet. We have to be patient,_ he scolded. He moved his hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

He made his way into his room, crossing the space to his bed. It was far more suitable for him being a long mattress of forest moss and soft leaves. He turned and allowed himself to fall back onto it, moving his wings with practiced ease to keep from unnecessary discomfort. He stared up at the ceiling, his eyelids feeling heavy as his rush had finally died down. 

As he focused on his breathing, the sounds of the gentle breeze outside and the warmth of the night air, something occurred to him and he could not help a laugh. _When did I start thinking of this as a “we” situation?_ he asked himself. _Well, I suppose it is now, isn’t it? I’m allied with the Green Meadows, with King Dagda._ His eyes drifted almost closed as he considered how much more that meant than he had first realized. Then a small smile quirked his lips. _And Marianne and I…_

“Wait.” Bog stopped breathing, his eyes snapping open. Seconds ticked by slowly as the rest of his mind tried to catch up. He shot up, eyes wide, hands at the sides of his head in a panic.

“Does Marianne know who her father _is!?_ ”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should have taken two shots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.  
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.

Marianne stared at herself in the mirror. Specifically, she stared at her neck, close to where it met her shoulder. 

The bruising had blossomed into a beautiful collection of purples and blues overnight. She ran her fingers up, grazing the skin, looking closely at the marks where Bog’s teeth had pierced. She bit her lip. As sore as it the area was and as bad as it _appeared_ …

Marianne took a deep breath, her wings shivering behind her as a telltale flutter made itself known between her legs. 

She could not help a smile quirking her lips as she looked at her face in the mirror. She was not entirely sure why, but she felt so energized. They had not ended up doing much, she knew. Bog had only used his fingers, had not even entered her, and she had only experienced one moment of pure bliss, but by the heavens it was more amazing than she had imagined. Just thinking about it sent shivers up and down her spine and made her want to rub her knees together in excitement. 

She giggled, shaking her head. “I’m such a goof,” she said to herself. 

Marianne looked at her reflection one more time, leaning in to examine her face in earnest. She was bathed, face scrubbed, hair clean and was just about to head out to dress for the day. She took a quick breath, forced the air out in a huff and stood straight, shaking herself and fluttering her wings quickly behind her. “Enough reliving how amazing last night was. We’ve got work to do,” she pepped. Just saying the words seemed to bring the seriousness waiting in a couple hours time melting into her mind. Her expression dropped and she could see the hardness in her own eyes.

Anything could happen today. 

Truthfully, she was not looking forward to it. She had no idea how the Court Council would act considering yesterday’s inexcusable behavior, but she had a feeling they would be less than apologetic. They would probably get lucky if the council simply acted as if it had not happened at all. She felt a glare starting to creep onto her face as she considered the unspoken sentence from the head of the Misty Rivers Council yesterday. _What’s his name again? Saran or something?_ she thought. “Doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “He’ll wish he had a new name if he doesn’t bloody behave.” 

Marianne blinked. She looked at her surprised eyes in the mirror and despite herself, giggled madly. “Oh great, I’m absorbing Bog’s speech patterns!” The thought brought a pleasant warmth to her cheeks.

“What are you doing in there!?”

“WHA!” Marianne jumped nearly a foot off the ground and whipped her head to the door. “DAWN! Why are you in my room again?” she shouted, grabbing a towel quickly.

“Because I wanted to spend the morning with you again, Silly!” came Dawn’s voice from behind the door. “And what happened to your dress!”

Marianne bit her lip, feeling the blush heating her neck and cheeks as her ears curled. Once the towel was secured, draping a second around her neck for good measure, she opened the door. And knew immediately she was made.

“Oh – my – GOSH!” Dawn gushed, jumping into a hover and smushing her cheeks with her fists. “What did you two do?”

“Oooh, nothing,” Marianne chimed, trying to act nonchalant while strolling to the chair at her vanity. Her eyes glanced the dress hanging at the wardrobe across the room. She knew with the amount of snags, tiny holes and tears that had accumulated in only two days time that she would be unable to wear it again until it was repaired, so she had simply hung it for her handmaidens to take it to the tailor. Considering the subject matter of the day, her tunic would probably be better suited anyway.

Apparently, Dawn had already had the wherewithal to inspect the dress after yesterday morning. 

“Don’t ‘oh, nothing’ me!” Dawn shot, grinning impishly as she ducked down and settled next to her sister at the vanity. She practically wiggled in excitement as she sat on the second stool. “Come _oooon!_ This is what sisters are for!”

Marianne scoffed, though she herself was grinning, as she combed her hair. “Sisters are for sharing bedroom intimacies?” she questioned.

“YES!” Dawn bounced up and down in her seat. “C’mon! Tell meeeee!”

Marianne groaned, slumping her shoulders and hanging her head. However, she could not drive away the quirk of her lips. She sat up, leaning against the vanity, leaning one elbow on the surface to rest her chin to her palm as she looked at the excitable ball of sunshine that was her sister. She smirked. “You’re too young for this.”

“Pfft, please!” Dawn shot, waving her hand dismissively. “You tell or I’ll tickle it out of you. Or worse,” she leveled her own smirk, “I’ll ask Boggy.”

Marianne barked a laugh, an image instantly popping into her head of a flushed and bothered Bog trying to run away as soon as the question left Dawn’s lips. “Okay, okay! Just to spare him the embarrassment,” she agreed. She took a deep breath, sitting up straight and placing her hands demurely on the vanity top. She then pursed her lips, looking to her hands. She strategically held up the index and middle fingers of her right hand and made a walking motion, looking to Dawn with a raised brow.

Dawn scrunched her eyebrows down a moment, staring. Then, realization sprouted across her face and she let out a thunderous gasp, her fingers cradling her cheeks. “Ohmegosh- seriously!?”

Marianne squeezed her lips together, trying valiantly not to grin, and nodded.

Dawn squealed and wiggled, her legs bouncing up and down. “Oooooo! I can’t believe it! Tellmetellmetellme!” she insisted, giggle in her voice.

Marianne had to bite her lip, feeling heat in her cheeks. “Weeeellll-“

Sudden sing-song chirping caught both the girl’s attention and they turned to see Lily, Rosey, and Tulip fluttering around the bedroom door. 

Marianne ordinarily may have ignored them, however her giddy excitement to recount her experience to Dawn was being chased away by apprehension at the tone of her sprites’ voices. “Girls? What’s wrong?” They looked at the princesses with concern, two of them fluttering down to the ground near the door. Marianne and Dawn watched as they flew back up.

Held between them was an envelope.

Marianne stood, walking to meet them halfway, Dawn following close behind. She took the unmarked envelope from them, turning it over in her hands, observing the brownish paper, rough and basic. She looked to Dawn who shared a concerned glance. She took a deep breath, opening it carefully. 

Inside was simply a folded piece of paper of the same light brown. She felt her eyebrows drawn down as she pulled it out and flipped it open. 

The room seemed to stand still as she and Dawn read the words silently. The stillness stretched by for several agonizing moments, neither of the sisters moving as they stared at the page.

Dawn was the first to break the silence. “We need to take this to Dad. Now.”

Marianne barely heard her, staring at the unfamiliar script on the ruddy paper as the words rolled through her mind, over and over.

**_Don’t trust the Court Council_ **

**_They’re plotting something_ **

**_The Bog King is in danger_ **

**_Be on guard_ **

**_Do NOT let them get him alone_ **

“Marianne. Marianne!” Dawn shouted, shaking her sister’s shoulder.

Marianne blinked sluggishly before turning to look at Dawn. 

“Dawn… we need to take this to Dad. Now.”

**~*~**

The office rang with nervous energy at hearing the words of the strange letter. No one quite knew what to make of it. And while it was unsettling in and of itself, the others’ anxiety was not helped in the least by Dagda’s incessant pacing.

Bog felt like he was glaring even though he was not meaning to as he watched his fellow king turn and start another trek. Though, he could not say the same for Dagda.

His gaze should have burned a path into the ground below his feet with how severe his own stare was, one hand to his chin while the other arm alternated between crossed at his back, crossing his chest or fisting a hand to his hip. His wings fluttered behind him constantly as he walked, his agitation barely contained.

 _I wonder if his agitation is because of this situation or that armor he doesn’t fit in anymore,_ Bog thought distractedly, noticing, now that he was looking for it, how the armor jostled slightly. _Probably both._ He huffed out of his nose, his own agitation doing him no favors no matter how much he would distract himself. “Dagda-“

“There are several things wrong with this,” Dagda shot, cutting him off. He tapped his fist to his chin, turning for another trek.

“Dad, we can’t just disregard this,” Marianne insisted, arms akimbo with one hand on her sword hilt.

“No, we won’t, but that doesn’t change the facts.” Dagda did not look up, his eyes still burning a line into the floor.

Dawn huffed a little too dramatically for the moment. “What facts, Dad? Maybe give us a hint?”

Bog glanced to the sisters then back to Dagda, but remained quiet, waiting for the older king to get his thoughts in order. His patience was still in force, if not wearing a little thin.

“Well, first of all,” All eyes except Dagda’s darted to Sunny, who had the note and envelope in hand, examining it, “This isn’t any kind of parchment that would be in use in a palace or any office of higher status.” He looked up, catching the others’ gazes. “Ya’ll know I’ve been working as attendant for months now, but before that I helped my folks with the stables. Specifically, the paperwork, because I was the only one who had the patience for it.” He averted his eyes back to the paper, feeling it between his fingertips and moving it this way and that to look it over. “This isn’t high class stationary, but it isn’t plain common paper either. It’s business paper. Made in big batches because it’s expected to be used a lot.” He looked to Marianne, his brows knitting together. “I know you want to believe it came from Cole, but why would he go out of his way to get different paper?” he asked with a shrug. “I mean, he’s a prince. Why not just use what he’s already got?”

“So it’s not obvious!” she responded, flaring her arms out at her sides. “He can’t let them know he knows, so make it look like someone else did it.”

“Marianne, it wasn’t Cole,” Dagda stated, his pacing having continued through Sunny’s observations. “And Sunny is right. More to the point, the length the crown prince would have to go to just to get business class parchment would raise even more suspicion than if he just jotted something down on what he had available.”

“Well, what if he had some from some other… reason- I don’t know!” Marianne threw her arms up. “Why do you think it wasn’t him? Who else could it be?” she asked in exasperation.

Dagda’s eyes finally shot to hers, his expression stony as he finally stopped his pacing. “The guards were posted and watching the Misty Rivers rooms the whole night. No one left. Not Cole, not anyone else.”

Marianne’s ardor faded. She let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl before she crossed her arms, placing a hand to her chin. “They couldn’t have snuck out then?” she asked, voice low as if thinking out loud.

“Not a chance,” Dagda iterated. He ran a hand up his face to rub at his temples. “I put them on con-watch.”

“Con- wha?” Sunny blurted, his confused expression comical if not for the situation.

Dawn lowered a hand to his shoulder, running it along his back. “Continuous Watch. Means even during the shift changes, eyes remain on target at all times.”

A literal growl entered the air and all eyes turned to Bog as he glared at the floor.

“If not the prince then _who?_ ” he nearly snarled. His nerves were peeking, and the anxiety was eating at his stomach like a hungry animal. Someone had gone through the potentially dangerous effort to warn them his life was in danger, but could not even be bothered to pen a damn signature? Not even an alias?

Dagda heaved a sigh. “If I knew that we wouldn’t all be standing here, Bog.”

Bog shook his head, gaze making the rounds to the other eyes in the room. “And _no one_ recognizes this handwriting? It’s not familiar at all? To any of you?” He could have growled again as Dawn and Sunny shook their heads, Marianne crossed her arms with a shrug and Dagda simply returned his gaze to the floor. 

“If it’s anyone we know,” Dagda ventured, “then they’ve gone to lengths to keep their identity hidden. The question is why? Why make this warning and then hide from making it?”

“Maybe they’re putting themselves at risk by doing this?” Sunny suggested.

“ _Or_ maybe they think we wouldn’t _trust_ them?” Marianne inserted with a brow raised.

Dagda leveled Marianne a flat look. “It isn’t Cole,” he restated.

Marianne gave a sharp groan and flicked her wings. “There’s secret passages in the castle, Dad. What if he found one and went around the guard?”

Dagda shook his head, looking away. “Unlikely. Besides, there’s only one leading from those chambers and it’s an exit to the outside. He wouldn’t have been able to backtrack through the rest of the castle without being seen.” He huffed, running his fingers down his beard as his face contorted in thought once more.

“Dagda.” Bog tilted his head forward as those green motes caught his eyes. “I request the use of your liquor cabinet.”

Dagda raised a brow, surprise fluttering across his expression momentarily. Then, he turned, walking around his desk. He opened the large bottom drawer and pulled out the bottle of snapdragon rum he had put back the night before. “Here. A shot of this will do you,” he said in a businesslike tone, walking back to hand Bog the bottle.

Bog raised a brow himself. Not only was he surprised Dagda had gone along with the request head-on, but he was unsure as to how Dagda knew… _Well, considering his history with Misty Rivers, I guess he would._ “Thank you,” Bog roused, wasting no time making his way to the cabinet for a glass. 

“Whoa, whoa, hey-“ Marianne started.

“Just a shot, Tough Girl,” he cut her off, though amusement trickled into his voice. “It’d take half the bottle at least to do me in. Promise,” he said with a wink. He nestled his staff in the crook of his arm and cracked the wax of the cork, the sweet and spicy scent released just from that motion making his mouth water.

Marianne crossed her arms and looked away, but her expression was less annoyed and more rueful. “I think we could all use one actually…”

Dagda scoffed. “I have every reason to believe that would go horribly wrong for all but two in this room,” he chided, leaning against his desk as he crossed his arms. 

“Hey, I’m no light weight!” Sunny retorted.

“Yeah, but ye’re smaller’n my leg, and tha’s a problem with snapdragon,” Bog teased. He raised the glass he had poured himself, as much to show it was only enough for a single swallow as it was to toast the potency of the drink. “Snapdragon rum ain’t the normal kick an’ you can bet yer boots it’ll have ye on the ground.” With that he downed the mouthful, nearly humming in satisfaction as the spicy, sweet heat raced down his throat and warmed his insides, the savory aftertaste chasing it like a fire and sending a shudder through his limbs. He rattled his wings and rolled his shoulders, flicking his head just right to crack his neck. He could not escape a small huff of a sigh, opening his eyes to deposit his glass next to the bottle. “That’ll do it,” he said with a smirk.

Dagda let out a laugh, but when Bog looked at him, he saw the older king had a subdued expression on his face. “We need to be careful,” Dagda said in a quiet voice. 

Marianne tore her gaze from Bog, slight color in her cheeks, as she rustled her wings. “What’s our next step?” she asked a little too swiftly. 

“For the moment,” Dagda stood from the desk, uncrossing his arms to adjust his armor, “act like nothing is amiss while we try to get through this meeting without punching anyone.”

Bog’s smirk returned and he leaned on his staff. “Saying that for your sake or ours?” he quipped. 

Dagda merely looked at him with a gleam in his eyes and barely contained smirk of his own. “You know what I mean.” He then stood tall and motioned with his arms. “Alright, everyone, let’s move like we have a purpose.”

They all did as directed, the office door opening before they got to it, and filed out. Bog noticed Rex standing with the other guards and had to refrain from staring. Though, Rex caught his gaze and winked before he could fully look away. _Aey, ya snarky bast’!_ Bog shot nearly aloud, though he toyed with the idea that Rex may have heard him mentally. He was promptly distracted by Marianne wrapping an arm around his, trailing her hand into his.

“You alright?” she asked.

Bog smiled as he looked into her eyes. “Fine as I can be. Not like I’m unused to me life being threatened,” he joked. 

She made a face, but her lips quirked as she squeezed his hand. “We’ll figure this out,” she whispered.

“Aye, we will,” he agreed. More whispering behind him caught his attention and he tilted his head a fraction.

“…to do something, and report directly back to me when you’re done.”

“Yessir!”

“I want you both to do it, but don’t go alone, make it look like a planned outing.”

“Sure thing, Dad, we can do that!”

He refocused on Marianne and she raised a brow at him. She gave him a small smile, a gleam in her eyes.

Bog swallowed once again, beyond thankful that Dagda had allowed him the snapdragon rum in particular. That gleam, that spark in the eyes seemed to run in the family, and while Dagda made it look dangerous, Marianne made it look like something else entirely. 

_Oh._ Bog’s wings twitched as he walked. _Right. I was gonna ask Marianne how much she knew about her father._ He huffed lightly. _Well, we’ll get to that eventually._

**~*~**

Sunny smiled as he and Dawn rushed for the castle’s east entrance like their shoes were on fire. Despite the seriousness of what Dagda had requested, he could never _not_ enjoy time with Dawn. 

“Sooooo, who we meeting with agaaaiin?” Dawn chimed, her excited grin evident in her voice.

He snickered. He did not know what it was about this part of Dawn’s mischievous side that tickled at his insides, but he was loving it. “Pare, remember!” he said, trying not to be _too_ loud about it. “We’re gonna go for a ride on Lizzie! Probably have Puk with us too. Little munchkin never leaves Pare’s side. Well,” he shrugged, “unless he can get into more shenanigans than usual. Ha!”

“Oh gosh! I love that little fluffball!” Dawn cooed, hopping into a hover, keeping stride with him the whole way. “I just wanna hug him to pieces!”

Sunny shook his head, looking over his shoulder at her. She had her fists to her cheeks, weaving back and forth as she thought about the imp. “Your love of that thang is far more generous than he deserves,” he shot.

“Oh shush, you love him too and you know it!” she retorted.

They made it to the east door and stopped at the top of the steps, nodding respectfully to the guards. 

“It’s gonna be nice and hot today,” he commented. “I hope Miss Mina is selling her lemongrass tea today! That’ll go with our adventure perfectly.”

Dawn giggled. “Don’t even play, you always want her tea.”

Sunny looked at her with a smirk and a raised brow. “Her tea is always good,” he snipped.

“Pfft!” She waved her hand at him.

He grinned wide, thinking back on Bog’s words about breaking his face. “Well, what are we waiting for?” He waved her on and started down the steps. Only to yelp as slim but strong arms hooked him under the shoulders. “Dawn! What?”

“What’s the point of strength training with Marianne if I never put it to use?” Dawn laughed.

“Oookay! I trust you!” Though, he was not sure if he was trying to be agreeable or reassure himself. Watching the ground leave him and feeling the air breeze by his legs was adrenaline inducing for sure.

Dawn then leaned close to his ear. “I also fly faster, and I don’t want to waste any time,” she whispered.

Sunny nodded, biting his lip as he wrenched his eyes from the ground. “Yeah, makes sense.”

“Don’t worry,” Dawn murmured. “I’ve been doing real good. I promise I won’t drop you.”

Sunny let out a nervous laugh that abruptly turned into a half-yelp, half-moan when she licked his ear. “D-Dawn, careful!”

Her rather suggestive giggle in his ear sent shivers down his spine to accompany the already churning sensations he was dealing with. “Oh, don’t worry, Sunny-Bunny. _I’m_ the one flying, remember?”

He stared straight ahead, swallowing loudly. “Yeah, I remember,” he squeaked.

**~*~**

Perhaps he should have taken two shots.

Bog felt his aggravation hitch a few notches as he tried to wait patiently. Dagda and Marianne with the Green Meadows Royal Council were on his right and Elders Cog and Bow along with Stuff and Thang were on his left. They had not arrived early, per se, but they had been left waiting for quite a few minutes passed the stated time and it was starting to get on his already frayed nerves. Bog took a breath to say something but decided against it. _Today is already a long day and it isn’t even half over yet,_ he grumbled mentally.

They all stood waiting in a massive atrium of a meeting hall, the tall, domed ceiling looming over them. The hall was rather comfortably furnished, with coffee tables and chairs interspersed throughout, bookshelves and scroll cubbies along the walls, and maps, banisters and paintings situated above the shelving. In the center of the room sat a large oaken wood table, oval in shape and highly polished to a warm sheen. One end was comfortably stocked with drink and food choices for various tastes. The light of the room was provided by two sizable rosewood and candle chandeliers, easily twice as big as the spiked amber lights that had lit his previous throne room, with brightly lit sconces placed at strategic intervals along the stone of the walls. An enormous flight balcony took up the far end, providing more light and fresh air from outside, stretching to fill nearly a fourth of the wall. Bog had toured this room once before and found it a rather enjoyable open space. 

Not that he was enjoying it right now.

He leaned to his right, whispering to Marianne. “How long do we wait before calling it off?”

Marianne’s hushed snicker rang out into the cavernous room. “We still have a ways to go, I think,” she whispered back.

“This is ridiculous,” Elder Cog grumbled, none-too-quietly.

Elder Bow shuffled and ran clawed fingers into his eyes. “How many facets of disrespect can they cover in one go, I wonder,” he mumbled.

Quiet snickering rang out again, but from Dagda, who looked for all the world as if he had not made a sound.

His head of council, Amer, rolled his hazel eyes. “They’re a stiff group, that’s for sure,” he muttered, rolling on the balls of his feet.

“That’s an understatement and you know it,” Lady Nael commented, her barely restrained smile coloring her voice.

“How did you ever manage?” another council member, Lucian, asked quietly.

“I’ve been _here_ for twenty years, haven’t I?” she responded in a flat tone.

“Sire, can I go get some tea?” Thang asked abruptly.

Bog sighed. He ventured a glance to his right. Marianne shrugged, Dagda crossed his arms and his council members all shuffled or stood showing their own signs of annoyance at the Misty Rivers’ tardiness. Nael caught his eye and smiled apologetically before leaning forward to look at the tiny amphine.

“Tea sounds good, Sir Thang, I’ll get some with you,” she said.

“I think I’ll get some coffee,” Amer commented. “Gonna need it,” he huffed under his breath.

“Mm.” Elder Cog sniffed. “I think I need some of that too.”

Bog glanced to the undine and could not help a smirk. “Don’t you both need it after drinking yourself silly?” he asked.

Cog and Bow both leveled flat glares before Bow scoffed. “We can still drink ye under the table any day, Lad, and don’t ye forget it.” He grinned with a wink as his accent just barely slipped in.

“Besides,” Cog added, tapping a hand to Thang’s back to goad him from his stool, “it was only beer. Liquor is the real fun.” He started for the other end of the table with purpose.

Thang turned on the stool but looked back for confirmation. Bog heaved another sigh but refrained from rolling his eyes, nodding after Elder Cog. Thang smiled and hopped down. “Would you like anything, Sire?” 

“Nothing that’s in this room,” he mumbled, but shook his head for good measure.

A heavy huff and jostling of metal turned his attention and he looked at Dagda who was fiddling with the chainmail under his armor. 

Marianne placed a hand to his shoulder. “You okay, Dad?”

Dagda nodded, tugging lightly at the abdominal plate. “Yes, just fine. Just as annoyed as everyone else, but otherwise fine,” he answered. 

Lady Nael called to him from the other end of the table, having already made the trek with Amer in tow. “Would you like anything, Majesty?”

“No, thank you, Nael. I appreciate it,” Dagda called back with a smile and nod. 

“Such a sweet woman,” Lucian muttered just loud enough for their end to hear. “I guess we got lucky to get the swan from the ducks.”

Dagda and a few others of the council snickered, several council members hiding it worse than others. Bog’s smile got the better of him as he saw Marianne roll her eyes with a smirk of her own. 

“Now, if only you would tell her how you feel,” Stuff suddenly piped from Bog’s left. 

Several sets of eyes darted between Lucian and Stuff as the council member looked at the diminutive goblin with his own golden-brown eyes wide. “What!?” he hissed.

“We can smell it from a mile away, man,” Elder Bow chided with a sharp-toothed grin.

Lucian’s olive skin turned a deep red that rushed all the way to his now curling ears. “Wha- d-do- what- I-I-“

Laughter and giggles erupted from the group, with a couple wolf-whistles thrown in for good measure.

“What’s going on down there?” rang Lady Nael’s amused voice.

Which prompted Lucian to duck down and sidestep behind a fellow councilor, looking more like an embarrassed teenager than a state official. This did nothing for the group’s amusement and the laughter only got louder. 

Bog held his middle, biting his lip trying to contain himself, Marianne was shaking her head with her hands ran into her hair while Dagda had his arms crossed with one hand up covering his mouth, eyes squeezed shut tightly as his shoulders trembled. Bow and Stuff were leaning against the table with smug grins, Stuff doing so quite nimbly from her position on a stool, while the councilors did nothing to help their cohort, breaking their laughter up with whispered suggestions of how to confess himself. The poor man was now sporting a lovely tomato red to his cheeks and looked for all the world like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Bog threw a glance to his elder and steward. “You two are horrible!”

Stuff shrugged, smug smile still in place. “Not our fault he’s pining.”

“Did not realize we were missing the excitement.”

And just like that the good mood that had sprouted withered.

Bog felt his face fall like a rock flying through air. All eyes turned to the entryway as quiet rushed into the room and watched the Misty Rivers Council walk in stiffly. They walked with their backs straight, shoulders rigid, looking more like they were attending a funerary precession instead of a cordial meeting of the kingdoms.

Prince Cole on the other hand, smiled warmly when he caught sight of Dagda and the others. “Good morning, Majesties. How does the day fare, so far?” he asked, moving towards them casually, but with his full stride, covering the distance quickly.

Bog raised a brow. Clearly, the prince was trying _not_ to appear eager to put space between himself and the council. 

“Faring well, so far, Prince Cole,” Dagda answered amiably. “And how fares it for you?” 

“Ah, rather slow start, but let’s not dwell, yes?” Cole said with a nod, smile ever-present. Then his eyes landed on Bog.

Bog stared for a moment. He knew he was expected to respond, but he found himself caught off guard by the prince’s eyes. 

Those clear crystal blue irises seemed so familiar. 

He took a deep breath and blinked, just barely catching a headshake, turning it into a nod. “The day fares well. Thank you, Prince Cole.” His voice was crisp, his own posture rigid as he stood at his full height and he gave no apology for it.

The prince, for his part, seemed either unphased by, or even pleased with this as he nodded back, his smile never fading, his ardor unwavering. “That is good to hear, your majesty.”

“Shall we get on with it?”

 _That_ put a waver in his pep and the prince’s eyes fluttered as if he were trying not to roll them. Without skipping a beat, he turned, looking along the table at the Court Council lined up along it. “Of course. We’ve waisted enough time already.” 

Bog tightened his grip on his staff, bringing his other arm to hook behind his back to clench his fist. Suspicion aside, watching that little interaction was nothing if not hilarious. Various faces of veiled annoyance or aggravation could be seen flaring among the council at the prince’s words. That would make the waiting worthwhile if they could watch these pricks be annoyed by their own royal for the duration of this meeting.

“Why the hurry?” a sweet voice called. 

Lady Nael at the other end, still accompanied by Amer, Cog and Thang lifted her teacup to take a slow sip, her eyes unblinking as they gazed at the council. Specifically, the councilman that had spoken. “There’s no rush, Cerian. Relax. Have a cup of tea. There are several blends to choose from. I’m sure there’s _something_ to your liking.”

Bog did not fail to notice the sweet-scented _acid_ that was dropping from her words. He looked between Nael and the head of the council, Cerian, he now knew. 

Cerian’s expression was oddly blank, however his inflection of his words told his mood clearly. “I appreciate the offer _Miss_ Nael, but we have work to do.”

Lady Nael only smiled, but it did not look friendly. “Suit yourself.” She lowered her cup, holding it waist height and proceeded around the table. Amer pointedly waited for her to pass and walked behind her, not to custom with himself being head of the Green Meadow’s council, but his statement was made, following her as they passed behind the Misty Rivers council. Cog made his own point by grabbing his coffee cup and walking around the other side of the table, not even looking at the Misty Rivers people as Thang trotted along behind him. 

When they had taken their places, Dagda cleared his throat and smiled, thought it was clearly sardonic. “Let us begin then. As you know, Prince and Council, I have entered an alliance with the Dark Forest kingdom,” he gestured to Bog and his people, “and I have reason to believe an alliance between our _three_ kingdoms would be beneficial-“

“Might I ask what benefit you believe this would have?” Cerian cut in, expression sternly schooled, hands clasped tightly in front of him.

Dagda made to respond, but Cole interjected.

“If I may, your Majesty Dagda? I already know one benefit I am sure you have noticed.” He pulled off his shoulder the long leather bag he had been carrying, unnoticed until now. 

Dagda raised a brow and inclined his head. “If you would,” he conceded, curiosity coloring his words. 

Cole let out a smile as he lowered the bag, opening the heavy flap to pull out a thick and tightly rolled scroll. Any eyes on the Misty Rivers council noticed the confusion evident among them, clearly surprised by their prince’s procurement. Cole untied the binding, placed the scroll on the table in front of him and unrolled it gracefully, showing it to be folded in half as it unfurled to about two yards in length. He pulled the half up and over to reveal a large, intricately detailed map. 

It was a cross section of their immediate lands, showing the area of the Green Meadows, the swatches of forest to the east of which was the Dark Forest, and then detailing the rivers’ flow, leading up to the Misty Rivers in the north. Several depictions of the lands surrounding their kingdoms were present as well, noting how relatively closely packed the three realms were, save for the northeastern stretch of swamps and marshes that bridged the gap between the Misty Rivers and Dark Forest. Around the three kingdoms, in red chalk, had been drawn a roughly triangular line, closing them all in together. 

“As everyone can see,” Cole said, roughly tracing the line in the air, “our three kingdoms together make a stronghold. We can easily protect our lands if we work together-“

“When did you draw this up?”

Cerian had a knack for interrupting people, apparently. 

Cole’s eyes did that flutter motion again, but he looked to the head of council with a pleasant expression. “Father and I have been discussing many of the possibilities of this alliance over the last several weeks. This is simply one of them.”

Cerian narrowed his eyes. “And he did not think to mention this to us?”

Cole tilted his head. “You know how busy he has been lately. As have you. He surmised the best time to go over this would be… well, now,” he said with a light shrug.

“And what would we, as three kingdoms, be protecting ourselves _from_ exactly?” another Misty Rivers council member spoke, a woman with what looked to be a permanent scowl plastered to her face. 

Cole stood straight. “Whatever necessary. Surely, I don’t need to go over possible threats or dangers that we as successful kingdoms may have to endure?” He spoke matter-of-factly, barely hiding the sarcastic undertones of his voice. 

“There hasn’t been any threat worth mentioning in decades.” Cerian was staring at the prince with a stony expression. 

Cole shrugged once more. “Rather overdue then, don’t you think?”

Bog was not sure if he wanted to laugh or cringe at that statement. He definitely wanted to laugh at the prince’s snarkiness, but he did not want to envision what a “mentionable” threat might be. Though, he knew Cerian was purposely being difficult.

The woman with the scowl-face cleared her throat, somehow making the sound ring derogatory. “I don’t think it wise to go _asking_ for threats to materialize just to make a point.”

“And I agree,” Cole said, inclining his head. “Stating all possibilities, however, is only prudent.”

“Agreed,” Dagda chimed in, leaning forward to place his hands on the table, looking to the map more closely. “And you are right, Prince Cole, this is one of the benefits I had noticed. Good to see yourself and Onyx have noticed the same.”

“Warmongering is hardly a good reason for an alliance,” the scowl-face woman inserted.

Dagda looked up sharply, his eyes sparking. 

The woman flinched. However, she held her gaze, her scowl deepening, if that were even possible. “Is this the _only_ benefit that can be agreed upon?” she asked defiantly, holding her head high as if trying to look down her nose.

“Of course, not,” Dagda responded. He then smiled. 

Bog found himself thankful he was not at the receiving end.

“You cannot forget the new trade opportunities that become available when such new alliances take effect.”

“And what are these trade opportunities then?” Cerian asked with all the kindness of an angry badger.

Stuff decided to chime in, sounding wholly unaffected by the council members’ attitudes. “We have several items already in distribution with Green Meadows, including spider silk, furs, mushroom leather, moss-cloth, along with spices and herbs that grow well in the Dark Forest.”

“Also,” Thang pointed a tiny clawed finger in the air as he nodded excitedly, “we have lumber deals and metalwork contracts in the works!”

“None of which we aren’t getting elsewhere,” Cerian responded coldly, gaze darting to Dagda. “If this is all-“

“We may be getting _certain_ of these things elsewhere,” Cole interrupted, “however, not all. And it would be far more logical to acquire them closer to home, don’t you think?” he asked. He leaned over the map, pointing at certain locations away from where their three realms were circled. “The western valleys for fur and leather, the northwest ranges for cloth and silk, and the northwest woods for what little lumber the collectives over there can provide at a time. It seems we can at least supplement for what more we need-“

“We have no issues getting what we need already,” Cerian asserted.

“Of course not, but why let it continue being more difficult than it need be?”

“So, you suggest we take the trade from our current partners and leave them without wares?”

“That’s why I used the word _supplement_. We don’t want to disrespect our neighbors, not when they have been so kind, but there is always room for improvement. Besides, perhaps we can extend the caravan between the lot of us? Bring some from them but to them as well,” Cole looked to Bog as if sparked by inspiration. “That would open more opportunities for your end and theirs. They have more than just what we trade for-“

“That would be asking a great deal from governors and individuals who are not even represented here.” Cerian looked less than pleased with this train of thought. 

“Well, we would open conversations, of course, these things don’t happen overnight,” Cole said in amusement. 

“Which is why you should be mindful of such suggestions before speaking them aloud,” Cerian damnear spat.

The room took on an icy chill as the prince tilted his head, face deceptively pleasant as he regarded Cerian. The silence only stretched for a few moments, but that was long enough for the air to grow thick with animosity. Cole’s lips quirked just so at the edges. “That is the point of a _discussion_ , is it not? To make suggestions?”

“Suggestions that have a little more thought put into them would be recommended,” Cerian all but growled. He then lifted his head, straitening his shoulders. “As such, I believe we are in need of a _private_ discussion before we continue with this meeting. It appears we need to clarify our positions amongst ourselves.” Cerian’s grey-black eyes shot to Dagda. “I request an adjournment until further notice.” It sounded more like an order than a request as he glowered at the king at the head of the table.

More silence rushed into the room after Cerian’s words. Bog looked to see Dagda staring down Cerian, his expression rather blank, but those emerald motes… he tightened his grip on his staff. He wondered how he had never seen this before, this fire that turned Dagda’s green eyes molten. _I suppose I wasn’t around immediately after I took Dawn…_ Bog clenched his teeth and his fist. He glanced to Marianne and had to suppress a shiver. Her amber nearly looked like literal fire as she leveled her own glare. Bog, once again, thanked the heavens he was on their side of the table.

Dagda took a deep breath, slowly, drawing out the silence as he maintained eye contact. He then tilted his head, motioning his arm widely to the door. “As you wish, Cerian,” he said, curt smile gracing his lips. “Wouldn’t want any rash decisions, now would we?”

Cerian narrowed his eyes as he tilted his head forward. “Thank you. King Dagda.” His words were sharp, the feeling conveyed being anything but thankful. He turned to leave, his fellow council members doing so as if on que. 

“Fu- àrdanach gun dad,” Elder Cog growled under his breath, his voice so guttural the words were barely recognizable.

Bog tensed, feeling Stuff and Thang do the same beside him. 

Cerian did a doubletake, his sharp gaze lighting on the elder. “Excuse you?” he shot, barely keeping the sneer from his face.

Elder Cog did not even do Cerian the respect of looking at him, picking up his coffee cup by the rim. “Can’t stick through a single trade meeting, eh? Not much of a council if you can’t even do that,” he groused, taking a generous swig.

Cerian’s eyes narrowed once again. “Our internal affairs are none of your concern,” he grated lowly, a threat underlining his tone.

It was Elder Bow’s turn, the larger goblin crossing his arms as he grinned, his sharp teeth glinting brightly in the light of the room. “Well we ain’t talking about your internal affairs, now are we,” he stated. 

Cerian’s gaze darted to him then back to Cog before he raised his head and turned on his heel. “Prince Cole, if you would,” he called without even so much as looking back. 

“You go on ahead,” Cole replied, turning back to the table, “I’ll be along in a minute. I need a word with King Dagda.”

Cerian’s steps halted, though only for a moment, before they started back up with renewed vigor, he and the rest of the Misty Rivers council filing out of the room far quicker than they had entered.

Dagda took that opportunity to gesture for his own council to dismiss. All nodded respectfully, starting for the door themselves. Bog looked to his goblins, raising a brow at Cog. Cog somehow had the ability to smirk without smirking, and did so as he held his king’s gaze, sipping his coffee. Bog huffed a breath through his nose, jerking his head behind him. The four of them nodded and started for the door as well. 

“Well, I guess that could have gone better,” Thang commented with a dejected air.

“It is what it is, but you did great,” Stuff reassured.

“You think so?”

“Yes!”

Elder Cog stopped behind Bog for a moment, gripping his king’s forearm still crossed behind his back. “You know my thoughts. Nothing’s changed,” Cog murmured. He tightened his grip briefly before continuing to follow behind the stewards. Elder Bow tapped the side of his fist to Bog’s right shoulder spurs. “Agreed,” he breathed, not missing a step as he followed as well.

Bog heaved a quiet, imperceptible sigh as he watched his officials go. _That arrogant prat may get out of this alliance after all. Or a lovely scar._ He schooled his face, a monumental effort, as a vicious smile tried to take over. _Or both._

“You really think so?” came Thang’s voice close to the door.

“Yes!” came Stuff’s reassurance. 

“You sure I didn’t sound nervous?”

“Yup. You nailed it!”

Bog returned his attention to Prince Cole, the royal staring down at the map still displayed on the table. He glanced to the fairy’s ears, noticing them twitching, listening. He then blinked, head tilting minutely. 

The prince’s ears did not have the long trailing edge. They were long, yes, but missing the distinctive curling tail that all fairies had. Or at least, that he had thought all fairies had. _Are all Misty Rivers Fae missing that curl?_ He had not paid much attention to that random piece of anatomy. 

There was so much _else_ to be concerned with after all.

Cole remained motionless until even the feint echoes of Stuff and Thang talking faded. Then, he closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. He let it out slowly as he rested his left hand to his hip, bringing his other hand to his face to rub his fingers into his eyes. “Uncle Da?”

Bog blinked in surprise, looking to Dagda who smiled warmly in response. “Yes, Cole?”

Cole was quiet a moment as he pushed hard with his fingertips. “Would it not be more preferable to, I don’t know,” he removed his hand to lift his head and look at the ceiling, “perhaps set oneself on fire? Instead of deal with these _people?_ ” He waved his hand in question, looking to Dagda with a raised brow. 

Dagda’s smile turned into a grin and he shook his head. “Good to see you’ve retained your sense of humor from the last time I saw you,” he chided, clapping a hand to Cole’s shoulder. 

Marianne’s snicker rang into the room as she shook her head too, crossing her arms. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“I don’t know how _Father_ does it,” Cole sighed. “Though, that’s probably why he spars every single chance he gets.”

Dagda let out a laugh. “That sounds about right.”

Cole’s eyes abruptly landed on him and Bog found himself fighting that familiarity once again. _Why the bloody-_

“I apologize, your majesty, that you have to put up with this,” Cole said, his expression melting into a warm but regretful smile. “I really have no excuse, and I’m afraid there isn’t much to do for it.”

Bog caught a low growl before it could leave his throat, but his rigid posture finally relaxing as he leaned against his staff. “No need, Prince Cole. _You_ aren’t the one who should be apologizing,” he said, keeping back the acid he would have liked to let slip into his voice. 

Cole nodded. “True to word. However, my apology is likely as close as you’ll get to a real one,” he responded ruefully.

“They didn’t even LOOK at him!” Marianne suddenly shouted, clawing at the air. “I can’t believe they- fu- gah!” She let out a half-growl, half-groan and ran a hand through her hair. “Unbelievable. That’s all I’ve got,” she huffed.

Cole dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his face as if suffering exhaustion. “Don’t… get me started. Please, don’t,” he mumbled.

Dagda chuckled, crossing his arms. “Looking forward to taking the throne?”

“Oh, heavens no,” Cole hissed, running his fingers passed his coronal and into his hair, dragging them only partway through as not to tangle the length at the low, intricate tail tied just passed his shoulders. “And I don’t think they’re ready for that either. Not that Father is ready to give up combatting their sh-“ Cole cut himself off with a clearing of his throat. “Anyway.” He shrugged, looking back to Dagda with a small smile.

Dagda nodded knowingly, raising a hand to stroke his beard. “How is Onyx, anyway?” he asked. 

Cole huffed, turning his attention to the map still laid out on the table. “About the same as always. You know. Dealing with the same day-to-day goings on,” he responded, face falling into a vacant expression as he adjusted the heavy material to lay more flat. “Just this border issue creeping up with the northern sprites. It’s not been anything really confrontational, just a report here and there of them sighted further inward than they should be. He was sort of letting it handle itself until the Alma of the closest inlet sent a direct missive questioning why our people were tromping all over their cultivations.” Cole rolled his eyes. “Cultivations that, upon closer inspection, were on our side of the line.” He shook his head. “Like we don’t know our own damn territory.” 

Dagda snickered, eyes never leaving Cole. Bog noticed his scrutiny, though turned his own to the map. “So,” he started, “your father thinks this could work?” He reached out and tapped a claw to the red chalk-line.

Cole nodded, a small smile returning to his face. “Yes, Sire. And I quite agree. Not that we have any aggressors to contend with at the moment, but it is a rather perfect layout strategically.”

“You know,” Marianne tilted her head, scanning the image, “I hadn’t considered it, but really, you have a point.”

Cole let out a soft laugh, crossing his arms, eyes still on the map. “Perhaps it’s habit on his part, but he’s always thinking of the best defense.”

“A habit well learned,” Dagda said. 

“Agreed.” Cole returned his gaze to the older king. “How are you, Uncle? It has been a while, hasn’t it?” He then tilted his head, more closely observing Dadga’s form. “Have you lost weight?” he asked suddenly.

Dagda’s eyes went wide, apparently taken off guard. “Eh, well,” he averted his eyes, running a hand over the back of his neck.

Bog glanced to Marianne, noticing her doing her own up-and-down. He wondered briefly if she really, honestly had not noticed. Though, he realized he could not say much himself. His own attention to that detail had been lacking until it had been blatantly displayed. He took a moment to look back to Dagda as well and promptly had to school his expression as an “Ah-ha!” jumped into his head. Sure enough, the abdominal plate was smaller.

Though, it was still grossly inaccurate.

“Maybe a little,” Dagda finally answered with a nervous chuckle. 

Cole smiled wide. “Well, that’s good, yes?”

Dagda scoffed. “Probably.”

Marianne shoved his shoulder with a playful smile, though said not a word. Dagda threw her a look, but his mirth was clear as day.

Cole let out another laugh before turning his head to the door, growing somber. “Well. I suppose I’d better get going. They aren’t going to blow a cork without a target.”

Dagda reached out, gripping Cole’s shoulder. “You let me know if you need anything, alright?” he offered, squeezing lightly. 

Cole huffed, but nodded with a wry smile. “Sure thing, Uncle. I appreciate it.” He grabbed the leather bag that had held the map and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll get to some agreement about something this century,” he shot. 

“Not likely,” Dagda quipped.

Cole shook his head before looking to Marianne. “Good to see you again, Mari,” he bid warmly. He then looked to Bog.

And he once again had to fight an angry rush of familiarity that was starting to get on his nerves. 

“Good day, your majesty. Hopefully, next meeting will turn out better,” Cole said before closing his eyes, giving a short bow.

Bog remained standing at his full height, despite his leaning, however made a point to incline his head respectfully, closing his eyes in response. “Good day to you, as well, Prince Cole. I hope you are correct.”

With a last smile, Cole turned and was off, walking briskly but without haste, as if hoping something would spontaneously happen to stop his tracks. Bog examined the prince as he went and found himself intrigued by his wings, which he had not had a good look at until now. 

They were long, almost grazing the floor, and were nearly as black as his hair at the bases, fading into a deep blue. Stark black trimmed the edges, with silvery white spots of varying sizes dotting the trailing edges where the blue and black met. However, it was not the planes of his wings that really caught his attention. The bases of Cole’s wings seemed to extend out, as if there were an extra joint hiding along the costal. Though, if that _was_ what really made the strange angle was hard to tell by just looking. It was certainly odd, none-the-less. 

He narrowed his eyes before tearing his gaze away, looking at Marianne and Dagda. Dagda had his arms crossed, his gaze also following the prince. Marianne was watching her father intently. 

“Well?” Marianne asked in a hushed voice. She waited until Cole had disappeared completely from sight, the tapping of his boots fading into the distance. “Do you really still think he’s not the one who-“

“Yes,” Dagda said abruptly, his tone sharp.

Marianne’s shoulders slumped before she rested her hands to her hips. “But he-“

“Didn’t keep his story straight,” Dagda growled under his breath. 

“What?”

“Huh?”

Bog and Marianne glanced to one another then to Dagda in confusion. 

“What do you mean, Dad?”

“What story?” Bog questioned. 

Dagda remained quiet, face hidden from them as he stared at the doorway. His grip on his arm was as telling, however, fingers digging into the metal, a slight tremor only just visible. Bog met Marianne’s eyes as she turned to look at him, concern painted across her face. 

“Meet me in the office in an hour. No sooner.” Before they could question him, he started off, fists clenched at his sides. Instead of going to the door, he turned into the room, heading towards the flight balcony. His wings rose from his back, jutting straight out behind him, swaying as he walked.

Marianne jolted to follow him but abruptly stopped. 

Bog looked to her, seeing her expression fluttering through several different emotions, making it hard to read. “Marianne?” he whispered. “What’s wrong?” 

Her brows drew down and she shook her head. 

He followed her gaze back to Dagda only to see him already at the balcony. He watched as the older king, without skipping a stride, stepped up onto the rail and stepped off into empty air. His dark red wings flared and in less than two wingbeats he was out of sight. 

Bog found himself staring as much as he could sense Marianne doing so from beside him. He had not actually seen Dagda fly… ever, now that he thought about it. And in the shape he was in, or well, was previously in, he had not thought him capable of such powerful strokes. He looked to Marianne, unsure of what to say about what had just happened, only to tense up as worry flooded his insides.

Marianne was staring at the balcony, eyes wide, brows drawn down, her breathing shallow and quick. She held her right fist to her chest, gripping her sword hilt tightly with her left hand and her wings trembled behind her. 

“Marianne?” Bog draped his arm around her, carefully brushing her shoulder with his fingers. 

She flinched, her shoulders twitching upward, but that was her only response to his touch. 

Bog’s anxiety jumped and he took a breath to speak-

“I, I don’t…” Marianne shook her head. 

Bog stared at her, quiet as he waited with bated breath for her next words.

She finally wrenched her eyes from the balcony, pinning him down with amber motes filled with fearful apprehension.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen my dad so angry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elder Cog said: àrdanach gun dad  
> Which is Scots Gaelic for "proud with nothing". Keep in mind, I'm using google translate, so what little other languages may make their appearance may not be 100% accurate.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suspicions make for bloody knuckles, and lizards make for excellent traveling companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.  
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.

“Pare! Mah man! … Where you at?” Sunny tilted his head, looking every which way around the front of the giant stable. 

They had made it to Pare’s house in record time thanks to Dawn’s haste, though she was still a ways off from being at Marianne’s level. She stood straight, resting her hands at the bend of her back as she arched, letting her wings hang and leaning her head back taking gracious gulps of air. “That… that was… good practice,” she huffed. Her face was flushed and she was sweaty, but her bright smile was still in attendance. “Gonna be nice… to take that ride… though,” she finished with a breathless giggle.

Sunny grinned as he looked back to her. “You did great, Dawn!”

She nodded and gave him a thumbs up before returning her hand to hang her head backwards again. “Where’s Pare?”

“Good question.” Sunny turned back to Pare’s abode.

Pare, being one of the larger of the elves, did not inhabit a mushroom like most who lived on the outskirts of the village. He had built a tiny cottage out of willow wood and oak bark. Being a simple man, he had basically constructed a box with a roof, housing his bed, kitchen and comfort area in one space. No, his home was not much to look at. His real pride was his workshop. 

Situated several yards off behind his home, his workshop was three times the size of the cottage. It contained all his tools and supplies for his several crafts, Pare being skilled in leather works, woodworking, ropemaking and even constructing tools for _other_ peoples crafts. Pare was not much for words, but when it came to one of his trades, he would go on all day about this, that, or the other, showing off where he utilized which skill, the tools involved, the methods to be used and so on. Then, Lizzie came along, and he had gotten the bright idea to simply add a section to his workshop and call it a stable.

Quite ambitious some had thought, keeping a massive lizard as a pet and trying to tame it once the Love Potion wore off. However, Pare was nothing if not determined once he set his mind to something. So, once the huge stable had been finished, Pare himself overseeing and helping with its construction – another of his trades being building and architecture – he had trotted her along to his home without hesitation. Everyone, Sunny included, had watched with bated breath, because by that point the Potion’s effects were dwindling and Lizzie was getting more feisty by the day. But, a pat on the nose, a grubworm treat and a quick lead around the property and into the stable and the lizard plopped down and made herself at home. 

Sunny smiled as he thought about that lazy lizard, spending most of her day sleeping while Pare worked, only to pep right up as soon as he whistled for her or stepped into the stable. “Speaking of,” he mumbled, smile falling as he made his way to the door which was currently cracked open. He peeked inside. 

Empty as an eggshell.

“Where are they?” he questioned to himself. He looked around the building and property as if they would manifest simply because he was searching for them.

“Maybe they took a ride without us?” Dawn prompted, walking up to Sunny’s side, breathing finally falling into a normal rhythm.

Sunny shrugged. “Well, that’s probable.”

No sooner had they exchanged these words did they feel the vibration in the ground.

“Well, whaddayaknow!” Sunny chirped, running a ways from the stable to try to get a view behind it.

Sure enough, another vibration hit their feet as they heard the tall grass being shuffled by what could only be the charge of a large body. Dawn and Sunny both grinned as the shuffling noises came closer before the large, green reptile leaped through the wall of grass that ringed Pare’s property. She smashed into the ground, her heavy breaths buffeting the air as she scampered around, dirt and pebbles flying as her claws tore at the ground. On her back, just where her neck met her shoulders was situated Pare, grinning and laughing as he yanked on the saddle horns in his hands. “Good girl! Good girl!” he called, leaning forward to pat her neck.

“Pare!” Dawn called. “Good morning! How fares it today?”

Pare finally looked their way, his grin brightening even more if possible. “Hey! It fares well. How are you Princess? Hey, Sunny!” he hollered with a wave.

“I told you already, just call me Dawn!” Dawn chimed. 

“We’re doing good so far, my man!” Sunny followed up. “What you up to?” he asked, tilting his head as he examined Pare’s setup.

The forever tinkering elf had been talking about making an actual saddle for the monstrous lizard and had hinted he had been working on it for a while. And it looked like he was doing a test run.

The warm brown leather of the saddle was planted over Lizzie’s shoulders where they cradled her neck, large leather pieces extending from the main seat to drape down the front of her chest, her sides behind her legs, and along her back. Just like with the dragonfly saddles, the pieces flowing down the front were clasped and met with straps flowing from the ones down her sides just behind her legs, effectively creating a harness with a seat on it. Also, just like dragonfly saddles, there was a yoke setup with two lead handles stretching around her neck and upward, the grips of the moveable horns resting side-by-side in front of the supporting saddle horn. This allowed the rider to lead the animal without need of bridle and reins like with the infantry squirrels.

“Looking good!” Sunny complimented.

“Thank you!” Pare beamed. “She’s taking to it better than I expected.” With that, he jostled in his seat, reaching into a large pouch at his waist to pull out a grubworm bit. “Here ya go, girl.” He tossed it out front of the lizard, holding expertly in the saddle as she jolted forward to lick up the treat. 

“Do you think we can ride with you today?” Dawn questioned. “You know, help you work the kinks out?”

Sunny smiled beside her. “Yeah, and if you think she’s up for it, maybe we can tour the border!”

Pare’s grin dropped for a moment as he regarded them, innocent curiosity splayed across his face. He then raised a brow with a smile. “Sure, why not?” he said with a shrug. “Hop on up!” He made a clicking noise with his tongue as he tapped his left foot to Lizzie’s side in the stirrup. Lizzie craned her head for a moment, trying to eyeball her rider. But when he did it a second time, making a soft noise of encouragement as well, she seemed to catch on and bent her left front leg, lowering herself down. “Good giiirl, good giiirl!” Pare cooed.

“Wow, that’s amazing!” Dawn shot, jumping up and down. “You’re so good with her!”

Pare looked at her and winked. “Just takes a little care and love.”

Sunny eagerly darted forward, letting out a “good girl” of his own as he started to clamber up her leg. Dawn proceeded right behind him, choosing to go through the physical act of climbing up as opposed to just flying to the lizard’s back. With Pare holding Sunny’s hand, and Sunny gripping Dawn’s, the two of them got themselves pulled up and situated soon enough. 

“Great idea with this stretch of leather here, Pare,” Sunny said, running his hands on the smooth leather under him. “Beats the chafing caused by her scales.”

“Yeah, it’s just a working model right now. Gonna get some designs going for multiple seats,” Pare commented. 

“Oh, before I forget,” Dawn chirped, “where’s Puk?”

“He _was_ hanging out on her tail,” Pare answered with a chuckle. “But he likes to hop off and run around on his own. He’ll catch up with us,” he said confidently. “So, which border we touring?” he asked nonchalantly.

Sunny noticed the look on his face as the larger elf looked over his shoulder. “The north border- just for fun!” He gave an award-winning smile. “Lots of grass and flowers for her to play with up there, ya know?”

Pare nodded, making another clicking noise as he gently tugged one of the horns and tapped his foot to Lizzie’s side again. She rose up, the three of them saying back and forth with her motions. “Yeah, lots of stuff to play in for sure.” He made the clicking noise again and tapped with both his feet, tugging the horn to his left to guide Lizzie the direction Sunny and Dawn had come from. “That meeting you twos supposed to be at going okay?”

 _Yup, I knew it was a long shot getting that past you,_ Sunny thought, glancing behind him to Dawn. 

She looked at him worriedly. 

He raised his brows, not sure exactly how he should answer. 

“It um,” Dawn took the lead, “it could be going better.” She gave a more earnest smile as she raised her shoulders.

Pare, who had looked at them from the corner of his eye, made an understanding face and nodded. “I hate politics,” he said simply. 

Sunny huffed, thought he could not help a laugh. “Tell me about it.”

**~*~**

The office was quiet. Far more so than it had been only minutes ago. 

Along the floor was strewn pieces of wood and upholstery from one of the chairs, shattered on the floor near the coffee table. Not far from the chair’s shards where sections of armor, thrown onto the floor and into the side of the desk. The shoulder pauldrons had made it to the window, dented and beat up from where they had hit the sill. One of the arm guards had made it to the other side of the room near the fireplace while the other was at the foot of one of the full-length standing closets. The closet’s doors were wide open, one of them hanging off one of the hinges, to reveal a secret room, a simple lavatory off the main chamber.

Dagda stood leaning against the marble counter, arms trembling, head hanging as he breathed heavily, trying to rein himself in.

It was hard. 

He remembered this. He remembered this fury that he had been so known for. It flooded his veins like a cleansing fire and while he knew he needed to use the logical side of his mind right now… he found himself grateful.

Almost relieved.

He had been truthful, more so than he had intended, when he had told Bog everything he had last night. He had changed over the years. And despite the catalyst of Bog’s previous actions, he had feared perhaps he would never truly recover from what he had allowed himself to fall into. 

Thankfully, it appeared that fear had been misplaced. Dagda looked up, glancing his reflection from under his brows.

He remembered this too. Looking at himself in this very mirror in just this same way after he had torn up his office the night of Bog’s kidnapping of Dawn. A flare of his former self had ignited, and he had barely managed to make it to this office before it breached his self-control. He had flipped table and chairs, broken glass and bottles, thrown cabinets from the walls, torn banisters and paintings. How he had managed it, he now had no idea. Though, at that time he remembered being far more winded afterword than he should have been. 

Dagda grimaced at his reflection, raising a hand, placing it flat on the mirror as if he might attempt to wipe the visage away. If only he could. _Heavens, how did I let this happen?_ he growled into his mind. He glared at the mirror, the lines in his face and the silver of his hair igniting his fury even more. He fisted his hand to the mirror, feeling the tremble in his arm. _Would it be better I had died, than let myself waste away into a sorry excuse for the man I once was?_ He clenched his eyes shut, hanging his head again.

He could barely stand it now that he had finally opened his eyes. If it had been the course of time that had done this to him? He knew he could handle that reality. No. He had started to wither like a flower starved of water and light due to his own pain, pain he had hidden away, buried deep and had tried so hard to pretend did not exist. All while putting on blinders to the fact he was showing it so obviously on the outside to _everyone_. A simple glance was good enough.

He was only six decades old. He had not even yet reached his first century. And yet people like that bastard Cerian, a man a whole forty years older than he, looked little more than half the age _he_ appeared. Good grief, Onyx was only two years his elder and yet he looked as if he could be father to the man who was as close as his brother.

 _Onyx._ Dagda clenched his eyes tighter, hunching over the sink. _Heavens, Onyx… I’ve failed you._

He should have known. He should have seen the details that did not add up, the signs that pointed to what was off. He should have caught all of this _long_ before yesterday, long before Cole’s little slipup.

He grit his teeth, a shudder running through his form, his wings shivering to attention as his fire kindled again. 

Part of him knew he could be reading far too much into it, but whether Cole had simply transcribed it for his father or had simply made it up, he had failed to even hint at something Onyx had supposedly written about only a couple months ago. Something that had been a part of Onyx’ life for as long as he had known him. Something Cole himself knew of, had experienced with his father. Something that should not have been overlooked, even with another set of ears present. Something that was certainly not “about the same as always”. And regardless of that, he had not failed to notice how Cole had felt the need to so immediately fill in information on this supposed “border dispute”. 

He had not _asked_ about the border dispute. He had not asked about what Onyx was dealing with in the day-to-day anything of his own kingdom. He bloody well knew all of that. 

He had _asked_ as to how Onyx was doing, had asked on his health, his well-being, in so little words yes, but make no mistake that was his question. And he knew Cole knew as much. As he had asked the same question who knew how many times before and Cole had answered honestly each time. Sure, there was a third party present, being Bog, but if he was comfortable enough to ask in front of the other king then that should have been enough for Cole to answer as honestly as he ever had.

But he did not. 

He had deflected. Flawlessly, if anyone else were listening. As had been the case, Marianne’s and Bog’s surprise being evidence enough of that. However, it was not good enough against _him_. Not the man who knew his father better than anyone else. 

Dagda’s thoughts briefly floated to the subject mentioned in Onyx’ letters and he grimaced. _Even if it is just something Cole made up… why didn’t I…_ His eyes snapped open, staring at the sink. _I did. I did try to do something about it…_ At Onyx’ admission in his letters, he had more than strongly suggested that Onyx leave his kingdom sooner, take a constitutional, an extended stay with him in the Green Meadows. Onyx’ reply to this had confused him at the time. He remembered now, his confusion at Onyx saying how unnecessary it was, how he would be fine. Not that Onyx needed an invitation to visit, but he never refused an invite either. However, despite his puzzlement at this, especially considering the subject matter, he had been so caught up with his efforts with Bog he had brushed it aside. He had been confident he would see Onyx soon enough with the meeting planned out two months later. 

Well. It was two months later. And Onyx was not here. 

The fire flooded back once more and he closed his eyes again, cringing over the sink as if having been dealt a physical blow. Snarled words tore from his throat, so distorted by emotion he barely heard what he said as he acted on impulse. He tensed, hooking his arm back and slamming his fist into the mirror, the action performed with speed he had thought he no longer had. The mirror shattered instantly, glass raining onto the countertop and floor, filling the sink and flecking into his hair and over his shoulders.

Dagda trembled, holding the sink with his left hand as he let his weight push his right fist into the shattered glass. A noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl left his throat as he twisted his fist against the shards, opening his eyes to pierce his own reflection through the spiderweb of cracks marring his face. “No more,” he breathed, repeating his words he had butchered with raw emotion.

He stood straighter, removing his fist, not even flinching as bloody glass fell to the countertop. He looked to his knuckles, squeezing his fist tighter, watching as his golden-red blood seeped from the cuts, trailing down his fingers. He welcomed the pain. Like a knife to his mind, it cut away a path of clarity that allowed him to see unhindered. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“I won’t hold on to the pain of losing you… not anymore, Vivian,” he whispered. He felt the sting at his eyes and gripped the wrist of his bloodied fist, holding tightly. “I can’t… If this causes me to-” he bit his lip. _If I lose Onyx… because I was too lost in my misery to see he needed me… I really will die._

He knew he was telling himself the truth. 

Onyx had been there for him when Vivian had left this world. He had been there, supporting him more than he could have asked him to. His closest friend had watched as his dark brown hair had gone silver within the month of her passing. Had held him tightly as he had cried like a child more times than he cared to admit, had even cried with him. Had reminded him how much he still had to live for, his daughters. How Vivian was still with him, just in them. How they had needed him so much more with Vivian gone. Onyx had spoken the most honest words, had unabashedly given the purest gestures, letting him know that this was only the end of _his_ life if he allowed it to be. 

He would have died from the pain of Vivian’s death if Onyx had not been there for him. 

And now, Onyx needed him. Whether the situation was truly as dire as he feared it was, whether Onyx’ was in current danger or future danger, did not matter. His friend, his brother-in-arms, the person he was closest to in this world needed him.

And he would be damned if he would fail him.

Dagda opened his eyes, looking up into the mirror at his shattered reflection. _Please be alright, Onyx,_ he willed into his mind. _And if you aren’t, hold on for me._ He gripped his anger, his fury, and held it close in the cradle of his chest. He felt it thrum gently, just as it used to, waiting patiently like a trained beast, for when it was called, when it was needed.

“I won’t lose you, too.”

**~*~**

“If you’re going to keep pacing then we may as well go-“

“No,” Marianne cut him off, pacing another trek in his room. 

Bog heaved a sigh from his perch on the edge of his bed. He shuffled his wings as he leaned his head on his hand, elbow rested to his thigh. “Marianne, you’re obviously worried. Shouldn’t we-“

“No,” she cut him off again.

Bog frowned, scrunching his brows down. “Would you let me-“

“It isn’t that I don’t want to!” she shot, throwing her hands in the air as she turned once more. “I want to go _right now_ and see what’s wrong, what’s got him so riled up, what he means about Cole not keeping his story straight, why that would make him so… so…” her steps faltered for a moment but she quickly regained her footing, continuing her incessant steps. “I’ve never seen him angry like that. Ever.”

Bot raised a brow. While he agreed that Dagda had appeared quite furious, it was not a great _show_ of emotion. Certainly, not compared to what he had seen before, or even done himself in the heat of the moment. Even considering what he had observed to be monumental self-control, he found it odd that Marianne had never seen such from her father. “Soooo… you’ve never seen him angry before?” he ventured.

“Yes, I’ve seen him angry! Are you kidding me!?” she spouted. “I’ve just never seen him like that!” She turned on her heel, once again trekking away from him, only to turn and once again trek back. “I know the stories and all, but I’ve never seen it, like actually seen it,” she explained. “I never imagined it could be so, so… so…” she finally stopped, staring at the floor at a loss for words. “So scary,” she whispered.

Bog swallowed. He had to admit, It had been quite a sight, even with not a lot to see. Though, he was still not so well versed in fairy body language, he knew enough about wingspeak to know that just Dagda’s wing display alone would have been frightening to anyone else in the room. Jutted straight out behind him, but not up, rigid and unmoving. It gave the impression of being barely restrained, as if any small movement could snap him into a furious tirade. 

For all he knew perhaps, that had happened when Dagda had gotten out of sight. 

He took a deep breath and removed his chin from his hand, clasping his fingers in front of him. _Well, if anything is a perfect Segway,_ he thought. “So, you mentioned you had heard stories?”

“Well, of course,” Marianne answered. Her ardor had faded, and she walked slowly to the bed, sitting down next to him, wings draped along the bed behind her. “You can’t live your whole life the daughter of someone like him and not hear the stories,” she said, eyes at the floor.

Bog tightened his fingers. “Someone like him?” He watched Marianne’s face closely.

Her brows dropped and she shook her head slightly. “Yeah. Do you think he sheltered me?” she asked, looking to him.

Bog held her gaze, not sure how to proceed. “Um. Well.”

She shook her head again, looking away. “I mean, I guess I get where you’re coming from. He doesn’t… well.” She rested her hands in her lap and folded her fingers. “He’s not… like he used to be, I guess.” Her expression melted with sadness. “He was never the same after Mom died. It was like he changed overnight. He seemed to get better, but then… He was just different. He doesn’t even look the same as he used to.”

“Oh?” Bog prodded.

Marianne huffed. “Yeah. He shouldn’t even look…” she stopped, her eyes on her hands. “I’ve been worried about him. I just haven’t wanted to admit it. He’s aged so much in the last ten years. And he shouldn’t have. And… it’s like, he’s just… faded… if that makes any sense. Which I know it doesn’t.” She rolled her eyes. 

“No, it… it does,” Bog said gently. 

She turned her eyes on him and he could see the sadness, the concern. She looked away for a moment, then back, capturing his eyes with hers. “Is that how it’s felt with Griselda?”

Bog did not answer at first. He let his gaze drift, catching the floor. “Yeah. Though, she bounced back rather well.” He let out a soft laugh. “I think her incessant need to get me together with someone sprouted from Da’s death. I know she feels alone, though she’ll never admit it. And she didn’t want me to feel that way. Especially, after what happened.”

Marianne nodded. “Yeah. I know that’s what was on Dad’s mind. When he wanted me to put more effort into finding someone. He even said it, once, finally. The same day as the festival, actually.” She smiled a sad smile, looking away as if looking directly at the memory. “He literally said he didn’t want me to be alone. I didn’t… give it much thought at the time. I was too angry with Roland’s antics.” Her smile faded. “He’s probably felt so alone all these years. And seeing me and Dawn grow up. It probably made it worse.” She looked at her lap, gripping the edge of her tunic and worrying the material. “I think the only person who’s made it better for him is Onyx,” she mused.

“Yeah?” Bog asked, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” she answered. “He and Onyx are so weirdly close. It’s like they’re brothers, but closer. Like they’re in each other’s heads.”

“I guess that’s to be expected,” Bog said. “Being who they are.”

Marianne nodded. “Yeah.” She bit the inside of her lip. “I guess that’s why this is so personal for Dad. His closest friend. Just as close as he was with my mom.” She shrugged. “Maybe more, really. They’ve known each other forever. I think they met when he was around fifteen.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine being friends with someone for that long?”

Bog tried to. It felt an impossible task. “No,” he answered honestly. 

Marianne took a deep breath and sighed. “I guess I just need to stop fretting over it like this. We’ll see him shortly and he can tell us what’s on his mind and we can try to figure this out.” She made a face. “This whole… mess.”

Bog chuckled at that. “Yes, mess is the best description.”

She groaned, leaning towards him to wrap her arms around his waist. “We’re going to figure this out. I know we will.”

Bog nodded, drifting into her embrace. “Yeah. We will.”

A few moments of silence followed as they stayed that way, comfortable in one another’s presence.

“So, ah… you’ve known your whole life that your father was-is the, the King of Fire?” Bog asked, trying and failing to seem nonchalant about it.

Marianne shifted against him. She then leaned back, looking up at him. “Well, yeah. How could I not?”

Bog averted his gaze. “Um, right. Of course.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Wait.”

Bog kept his eyes elsewhere.

“Hold on.”

He bit the inside of his lip.

“You didn’t know!?”

He groaned. “Alright, look-“

“How did you not know?” Marianne asked, giggle in her voice.

“It’s not like I’ve stepped foot outside the Dark Forest ever before, there wasn’t any reason for me to think he was anything more than a-a myth, a story!” he said in his defense.

“Oh my goodness- we’re neighboring kingdoms!”

“So! That doesn’t change anything!”

Marianne laughed outright. “You’re serious!”

“Yes, I’m serious!” Bog retorted. “Why would I joke about that?” Marianne’s amusement was infectious and he could not help a laugh sneaking out despite himself. “Listen, I may not live under a rock, but I live in a tree among trees. I think I deserve a li’l leeway!”

Marianne let go to fall back on the bed, giggles bubbling from her incessantly.

Bog smirked. “Keep that up, tough girl, and I’ll make ye regret it,” he warned.

“Oh, really?” Marianne shot back, grin plastered to her face.

Bog returned a grin of his own. “Oh yes.” With that he launched forward, his nimble fingers deftly finding her ticklish spots as her laughter rang into the air once more.

**~*~**

Dawn did a few front flips, barrel rolls and waving archs and dips, flying high above them and drifting over the official line of the border. “The weather is great today!” she hollered. “Don’t you think?” Despite her addressing them, her eyes were glued across the border, her gaze never wavering as she changed up her flight patterns.

“Yeah, nice and breezy over here!” Sunny called back, glancing to her momentarily. He looked back out over the fields of grass flowing far out in front of them, the northern mountains just visible through a white haze in the distance. There were a few large bush clumps and a stray tree dotted about every now and again, but otherwise the full field was open and inviting. Nothing out of the ordinary.

He was not sure he was as comforted by that as he should be.

He had not realized how quiet Pare had been for several minutes now until his larger friend finally spoke.

“So, what’s going on, Sunny?”

Sunny’s head whipped around and he stared at Pare. His surprise lasted only a moment before he tried to school his face, putting on a confused smile as he shrugged. “What do you mean? Everything’s fine!”

Pare raised a brow, looking decisively unamused. “Come on, Sunny. You and Dawn have been watching the border like hawks since we got here.” He quirked a smirk. “And she already admitted things aren’t going good.” He turned back for a moment, adjusting Lizzie in her meandering path. “So, what’s up?” he asked without turning back around.

Sunny heaved a sigh, dropping his admittedly horrid act. “Yeah, I guess there’s no point hiding it,” he said lowly. He leaned forward, darting his eyes back to the tall grasses. “We were asked to do reconnaissance. Check the border out, see if there’s been any changes,” he admitted, still keeping his voice quiet. He glanced up to Dawn. “We have reason to believe our visitors aren’t as friendly as they used to be.”

Pare simply nodded, keeping his face forward as he monitored Lizzie. “Anything to be worried about?” he asked quietly. 

Sunny huffed. “Not sure yet. That’s kinda part of why we’re out here.” He glanced to his friend, a pang of guilt suddenly ringing through him. “Thank you for going along with this in the dark, man. His majesty doesn’t think we have to worry about offensive action, but he told us to be careful anyway. So… I appreciate-“

“No worries, Sunny,” Pare cut him off, amusement thick in his voice. “This is my home, too. I’ll help out however I can.” He then let out a rich laugh, leaning backwards from it. “Besides!” He dropped his voice to a whisper and turned to lean into Sunny conspiratorially. “Do you really think they’ll attack with a giant lizard under us?” He winked and gave a bright grin, readjusting to look forward again.

Sunny grinned himself before a laugh bubbled up. “Thanks, man! You’re the best, you know that!” he chimed, hugging Pare from behind.

Pare chuckled, patting Sunny’s hand at his side, the smaller elf’s reach hardly making it halfway around his middle. “No problem, bud. That’s what I’m here for.”

“What are you two doing down there?” Dawn called, waving at them as she did another roll.

Pare waved back. “Just enjoying some conversation and admiring your flying,” he called back.

“Ooo, why thank you!” Dawn cooed, gracing them with a backflip. 

Both men noticed her eyes darting back to the border, her gaze ever-fixed and taking in everything. 

“Gotta admit,” Pare said, “looks real quiet.”

Sunny nodded, worry filling him at the fact. “Yeah. I hope that’s a good thin- BLAKGHF!” He wobbled and gripped Pare instinctively as tiny claws and white fluff darted into his vision. “You little!! Some warning would be nice!” he piped, fidgeting around trying to reach Puk on his back. “And careful with the clothes! I can’t wreck’em too much, I only just got them!”

Puk squeaked happily and darted easily out of his grip, giggling before sticking his tongue out. 

“There you are!”

Puk’s chirp of surprise was immediately followed by more happy squeaks as he clamored to Sunny’s shoulders and jumped into the air without reserve. Dawn swooped down and caught him easily, arching back up with the fluffy imp in her arms.

“Oooooh, I missed you! You little mischief maker!” She hugged him close, giggling as he wrapped his arms around her neck, rubbing his face all over hers. 

“Hey, don’t get too comfy up there!” Sunny shouted, waving a finger at the fluffball.

Puk simply grinned at him before sticking his tongue out again. 

“Pff, little thang,” Sunny muttered with a smile. 

“Oh, you love him,” Pare chided.

Sunny groaned. “Why does everyone keep saying that!?”

“Because it’s true!” Dawn hollered down.

Sunny groaned louder to the amusement of all present. Even Lizzie seemed to sport a reptilian smirk at the exchange.

“Oh, laugh it up,” Sunny piped, waving a hand dismissively.

“Oh, we will!” Pare scoffed.

“Continuously!” Dawn added.

“Eeemaa-ah!” Puk spouted.

“Oi, nothing out of you!”

“Pttttth!”

“What did I _just_ say?”

**~*~**

_‘Sire, are you sure?’_

_‘Yes, Rex.’_

_‘That was quite a-‘_

_‘Rex.’_

_‘… I’m just concerned.’_

Dagda sighed heavily, rubbing his fingers along his forehead. ‘ _I understand.’_ He could not blame Rex for his worrying. His captain had seen the mess he had made. And had caught an impression of what was coming before he had managed to dull their link. However, he had work to do. And really, as far as he was concerned, it was all a step in the right direction anyway. Though, the raw feeling still floating in his consciousness was hard to hide, and he knew that was the real reason for Rex’s concern. His captain was quite accustomed to the anger, despite his ability to shield it, having learned to do so to keep the emotion from overwhelming their link. But the… exposedness in the wake of his outburst was new.

There were a lot of new things he would have to go through, now. And he would make it through them.

_‘I’m alright, Rex. Please, let them in.’_

_‘Understood.’_ Rex responded. A faint impression of empathic support wafted through their link.

Dagda could not help a slight smile, sending back a thankful whisp. He removed his elbows from the desk top, grabbing the arms of his chair as he made to stand. Only to realize something important he had overlooked. He looked down.

He had forgotten to put on another set of armor. _SHIT!_

Dagda’s head shot up as the door clicked and started to swing open. He quickly replaced his elbows on the desk, clasping his fingers and leaning his lips to his hands before shuffling his wings to his sides for extra coverage. _If I just don’t stand… just maybe…_

 _‘What’s wrong?’_ Rex asked, slight panic flickering into the link.

 _‘My armor,’_ Dagda replied simply.

Unhindered amusement washed through the link.

_‘You ass!’_

“Hey, Dad.”

He put on a smile at Marianne’s voice. Her concerned tone melted his panic. He was not surprised. His hasty exit and obviously displayed emotion had likely been a shocker. “Hey. How are you doing?”

Marianne made a face at him. “I should be asking you that,” she said with a small smile.

He let out a chuckle. “I’m fine. Better, I suppose, now that I’ve had time to cool off.”

Marianne nodded as she approached the desk.

Dagda glanced behind her shoulder, catching Bog walking in behind her. The other king was far too perceptive and he had to work hard to keep his face in check as he saw Bog’s eyes widen and glance up and down his seated form. He could only hope his tactic was working as the door closed behind them. He raised a brow and nodded slowly, hoping Bog caught the hint. “Go ahead and have a seat,” he said calmly, addressing the both of them.

Marianne shook her head, crossing her arms. “Too tense right now.” She looked away, looking to Bog who shrugged his agreement. 

Bog’s expression was neutral, and Dagda was beyond thankful for it.

_‘I’m gonna laugh, and it will be loud.’_

_‘Rex, I swear-‘_

“So,” Marianne directed her gaze back to him, “what did Cole say that got you… um,” she glanced away, “what made you think he was telling a story- or well, not sticking to a story he told?”

Dagda nodded, keeping his forearms up and hands at his chin, hunching his shoulders slightly for good measure. “Yes. That would be proper to explain.” He looked to the desk, taking a deep breath. “It’s nothing you would know off hand. It has to do with a situation mentioned in my letters from Onyx.”

Bog stepped closer, head tilted. “I thought you said there was nothing in the letters-“

“Not about this supposed border dispute,” Dagda cut him off, looking up to him sharply. “But something else. Something personal.” He could hear his voice getting heavier. He closed his eyes, taking another calming breath. “I won’t go into the specifics. Only that it’s something Onyx has dealt with for a long time, and something he mentioned. And Cole failed to bring it up when I asked.”

It was Marianne’s turn to tilt her head. “But, you didn’t ask about something specific?”

Dagda opened his eyes but kept them level at the desk. “But I asked about his health. Maybe not directly, but Cole knew what I meant.”

“You’re sure?” Bog questioned.

He looked to the younger king and nodded. “Yes. It-“ Dagda froze and knew instantly he was done for.

He had been about to shuffle his wings at his sides, instinct fighting to move them to a more normal position. 

But freezing solid mid-sentence did exactly what he was trying not to do.

“Dad? Are you alright?” Marianne asked, concern flooding her expression as she started forward faster than he could react.

_‘Heh. You’ve been made.’_

_‘REX, I’M GONNA-‘_

“Oh, my heavens! Dad!”

“Uuuh, yes?” He found himself rooted to his chair, still frozen in place, as Marianne radiated pure shock from the head of his desk. Her gaze was glued to the space between his arms before she darted her wide eyes up to meet his. He bit the inside of his lip. “Okay.” He moved his arms slowly, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “It’s not-“

“DAD! What happened!?” Marianne shouted, darting from around the front of the desk. 

Dagda gave up and stood quickly as she made it to him. “Now, hun, it’s not what it looks like-“

“Dad!” Marianne’s voice started cracking as she looked at him. Her eyes trailed up and down his midsection now unconcealed and wrapped in the fitted under-coat that his armor normally rested over. Her hands came to her face and she looked at him with watery eyes. “You- wha- when? Are you-“

“Marianne,” Dagda soothed, reaching out to grab her shoulders. “This isn’t a bad thing, okay. It’s-“ he yelped as she darted forward in his grip, her own hands patting his stomach and sides.

“Daaaad, oh my- p-please tell me you’re okay?” Marianne looked back up, tears threatening to overrun.

“I’m _fine!_ ” he urged, cupping her cheek with his right hand. “I’m okay, I promise, this is unexpected but it’s not a bad thing, I swear.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “I’m alright,” he said as earnestly as he could. 

Marianne held her hand up to hold his to her cheek as she held his gaze. Then her eyes widened again. She gripped his hand and pulled it away to look at it.

_Oh. The bandage._

Laughter erupted from the other side of the office door. 

“Wha- DAD!! What happened to your hand!?” Marianne held his hand tightly, her panic washing over her face as she looked at where the blood was seeping into the material at his knuckles.

Dagda bit back a groan, glancing to the side, seeing Bog cringed in on himself. He was holding his staff close with a hand over his face, peeking through his fingers at the scene. He gave a sympathetic shrug at Dagda’s gaze.

The laughing from the other side of the door got louder.

“And why is Rex LAUGHING!” Marianne shouted. Anger flared into her expression as she yanked Dagda’s hand to her chest, cradling it close as if the appendage needed protecting.

Dagda heaved a sigh.

_‘I’m gonna kick your ass, Rex.’_

_‘Hey, this is all you, sire! I’m just enjoying the show!’_

**~*~**

Bog took a deep breath of the warm night air as he stared out at the darkened sky.

Today had ended up quite the day.

Dagda had not meant to show off his weight loss. He had seen that much from the older king’s expression as he had entered the room. He had been immediately concerned by the missing metal and had honestly been surprised that Marianne had not noticed sooner. Though, it was more likely that she simply had not noticed his midsection. She was no doubt more used to the sight of her father without his armor than he was. 

Despite Dagda’s reasons, Bog felt the event should have happened sooner. Dagda should not have been hiding it. At least not from those closest to him. Talking about it could have prevented Marianne’s panic. And Dawn’s.

When Dawn and Sunny had shown up, only ten minutes after Dagda had finally managed to calm Marianne down, the whole processes had started anew. Both the princesses had been immensely concerned for their faither, Sunny displaying his own concern as well, the three of them immediately thinking health was the issue. Not that it was not, in a roundabout way. But, Bog had remained mute to what he knew, allowing Dagda to explain in his own words that he was simply trying to cut back and take better care of himself. He had tried not to blurt anything out, having needed to fight the feeling that Dagda should come completely clean. And while the older king _had_ attempted to speak more of the underlying reasons, saying he had come to somewhat of a mental crossroads with himself, he did not give the girls or Sunny nearly as much information as he had shared with Bog. Which, in hindsight, he supposed was a good thing. 

Perhaps they really did not need to know everything.

Bog still felt it had been a bad idea to keep his physical status so hidden from his daughters in the first place. Regardless of his reasons. 

Eventually, the excitement had settled down- Rex had gotten a Lecture from Marianne- and they had gotten down to business. Dagda had explained the lack of Cole’s continuity, still keeping mum on exactly what had spurred him off. Dawn and Sunny had reported their findings at the border, noting that there was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing strange, nothing to rouse suspicion. Though, they both commented that it seemed _too_ quiet. There had not been the barest glimpse of even a far-off patrol during their entire time trekking the border. Not that the Misty Rivers needed patrols to come within viewing distance, but it seemed odd to them that, not once, had they spotted a single flyer or mounted soldier. Dagda agreed, but seemed more confused by the absences than anything. He had grown thoughtful after their report and eventually decided enough was enough for the day. He had suggested that they should go their separate ways and “act natural” but keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. Before they left, he had shared that no reports of suspicious activity had been seen throughout the castle. He had ordered the guard to be on the lookout, trying to determine if someone seemed to be lurking around. 

Trying to catch any indicator of who may have left the note. 

Bog had joined Marianne in going to her room to find that there had not been a second note left in her absence. Just as with the quiet at the border, they were not sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. They had spent more time with one another afterword, trying to “act natural” as Dagda had put them to, but had kept an eye out over their shoulders for anything. Anything at all. 

Not that there was much to see.

The Misty Rivers council and Prince Cole had holed up in their guest rooms. Neither hide nor hair had been seen of them since earlier in the morning with not even so much as a missive sent via a steward. Dagda had informed the four of them of this before setting everyone on their way. Though, he could not give them an idea of what it might mean. They could not think of anything either. Dagda assured he still had the rooms under watch, and he would send word immediately if anything was reported. 

Bog was not comforted by this.

And why should he be? The note slipped under Marianne’s door, not under _his_ he could not help but be suspicious of, was done so with absolutely no one knowing until her sprites had found it. Whoever had done the deed had been careful and stealthy. And evidently knew the castle to a terrifying degree of accuracy. The only people who could know the castle so well were the castle guard and the royal family. Dagda had admitted that Onyx himself was aware of some secret passages, though he was not sure if he knew of all of them. Even so, there was no reason to suspect he would have given this information to Cole, who again, was ruled out due to the lack of leaving his rooms and lack of passages available for him to utilize. 

Bog sighed. His frustration was becoming harder to contain and it mixed horribly with the dread that he found he could not keep from growing. Both emotions warred in him to create a sickening sensation, threatening to make the room spin and the walls cave in on him. Hence, he was out on one of the public flight balconies, even his own room feeling claustrophobic due to his inner turbulence. Potentially not the wisest decision, but he was not some ward in need of protecting. 

He groaned, lifting his hands off the stone rail to run his fingers into his eyes before dragging them over his head. “This is the hardest part,” he whispered to himself. _Not knowing._ He looked to the sky once more, studying the pinpricks of starlight in the velvet sky. He leaned against the rail again, gripping the stone tightly as he busied his mind with picking out constellations. Trying to occupy his thoughts with anything else was hard. Especially, when a nagging feeling somewhere in the back of his consciousness kept picking at him. It made him feel as if he was missing something. _We’re missing a lot, though,_ he thought sullenly. _So very much._

Then, something else nagged at him. 

Bog went still, listening. Sure enough, quiet steps were issuing from the hall this balcony stretch out of. He tilted his head and determined they were heading his direction. And they were actually quite close. He turned swiftly, hand finding his staff beside him. 

“Identify yourself,” he commanded loudly, looking into the darkened hallway beyond the balcony entrance. A tall, shadowy figure was caught in his line of sight. In the split-second it took his eyes to adjust from the starlight of the outside, it spoke as he had ordered.

“Ah, your majesty, I apologize. Did I startle you?”

Bog schooled his face, trying to hide the surprise at hearing Cole’s voice in the darkness. “I wouldn’t say that,” he answered, voice low to his own ears.

Cole covered the remaining distance, stepping out onto the balcony, the feint light from the stars illuminating him. He smiled kindly, raising his right hand to his chest. “Do forgive me. It was not my intent to sneak.” He shrugged. “Moving quietly is simply a habit.”

Bog nodded, though he did not relax his form or place his staff back against the rail. “I can understand that,” he said in a somewhat amiable tone. He listened to the warning bells chiming in his mind, keeping his eyes on the prince. “May I ask why you’re roaming around so late at night?” he asked, managing to keep his suspicion tactfully hidden behind a façade of curiosity. 

Cole’s smile fell a fraction as he looked away to the scenery beyond the balcony. “Well, honestly,” his gaze returned, crystal blue eyes seeming to gleam in the pale light, “I was hoping to find you.”

Bog remained motionless, senses on high alert. He tilted his head. “Is that so?” _Oh, I do not like this._

“Yes,” Cole said with a nod, his crystal stare penetrating. “I would like a word with you, if I may?”

 _I_ really _do not like this._

Bog’s mind started racing. Unfortunately, he could not come up with any logical reason with which to duck out of this request. There was no way to refuse being alone with the crown prince without coming off as suspicious himself. It would not do to give away any misgivings, give any hint that he had reason to doubt the prince. While he far more preferred getting right to the point, this situation was less straightforward. Either Cole could be trusted, or he could _not_. 

_And what better way to find out than to let him tell me himself?_

Bog took a deep breath, keeping his own crystal eyes locked with those of the man standing in front of him. The possible advantage in this game of wits was too much to pass up.

“Alright.” He relaxed his posture, leaning on his staff. 

“What do you want to talk about?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHAT!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.  
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.

Cole gave a smile. It was a unique impression, fitting somewhere between a Cheshire smirk and an endearing notion.

Bog did not like it.

At all.

“I’m happy to hear you’re willing to speak with me, your majesty. I know things haven’t been… the best as far as impressions go.” He tore that piercing gaze away to walk further onto the balcony, stepping away a respectful distance to lean against the stone rail. 

Bog watched him the whole way. He raised a brow as he noticed what the prince was wearing. It was a rather loose-fitted undershirt of a faded black material. It was light and hung almost baggy on his body, but with sections that could be tightened with cloth cord, though the ties were loose at the current moment. He raised a brow. “Well. First impressions are not always the best. And you’ve certainly tried to rectify it.”

Cole nodded, looking almost wistfully out at the landscape. “Yes. But as you’ve likely noticed, it is a difficult endeavor. The Court Council is… an overzealous bunch.” 

Bog stepped back to lean against the rail, gripping his staff in both hands. “Yes, I’ve noticed,” he said simply. 

“You know what that feels like, right? Dealing with self-righteous hypocrites?”

His brows shot up at the bluntness of Cole’s question. “Well… yes. I do.” That much he could be honest about. He certainly had dealt with his fair share. And he remembered all to well how that had ended.

Cole let out a soft breath of a laugh. “I knew you did. Especially being the only one standing on that landing.”

Bog went still. He tilted his head ever-so-slightly. “What?” he asked quietly. 

“I would expect the king of the Dark Forest would have other halfbloods in his entourage if there were any left.”

A spark of indignance flared in him. As did a whiff of anger. Where did this man get off acting like he knew anything about what he had been through? He narrowed his eyes. “Is that so?”

“Am I wrong?” Cole turned his head, leveling a gaze colored by a rueful expression. He then took a deep breath, standing from the rail to cross his arms and lean his hip against it. “Lets not pretend we don’t know what we do, your majesty,” he said. “You know of the situation in my father’s kingdom. Even if I could suspect otherwise, your lack of questions on the matter says enough. And besides,” he glanced away, towards the balcony entrance, “you have chosen to ally with King Dagda. I have no reason to doubt he would not inform you of something so critical.” His expression took on a fondness. “He is a good man, Dagda,” he said softly. “He has been a beacon of sanity for my father, you know.”

Bog tilted his head upward, but remained quiet, ever watchful. He was not sure yet where this was going.

“How much has he told you?”

Well, there went just listening. Bog tightened and loosened his grip on his staff. “The basic gist,” he answered simply.

“Ah, to be expected,” Cole mused. “He is nothing if not considerate.”

Bog narrowed his eyes. “What… do you mean by that?” he asked, not having to feign curiosity this time.

Cole’s eyes darted to his own. His expression was suddenly unreadable. He tilted his head, as if examining his conversation partner. “Has Dagda explained the nature of the relationship between the Court Council and the royal family?” he asked, his voice deliberate with a slight edge to his words.

“No,” Bog answered, unmoving as he held the gaze directed at him.

Cole smiled again. This one was decisively unfriendly. “ _That_ is what I mean by considerate.”

Bog felt his face mar as his confusion increased. 

“You see,” Cole looked away again, this time out to the trees and foliage once more, “we _are_ the royal family. But the council has a different idea of what that means. We hold authority, sure.” He shrugged. “But as far as they are concerned, it is only because they _allow_ us to.”

Bog’s breath halted. _What?_ he failed to ask aloud.

“We are _tools_ to them,” Cole said, voice dripping with disdain. “Mere instruments to serve their ends and keep the people happy. After all, without a king, what is a kingdom?” His gaze slid to Bog’s from the corner of his eyes. “And what owner would suffer a filthy instrument?”

Bog stared unabashedly, no longer focused on the warning bells or the effort of keeping his guard up. He shook his head slowly. “What… why? How?” he managed.

Cole smirked. “Good questions, majesty.” His gaze dropped. “Centuries of underhanded tactics and carefully planned schemes. Adjusting the law just so, pushing the boundaries slowly, surely. They’ve taken control little by little, and it started long ago. Though, not so long ago, I found out.”

Bog was speechless, unable to fathom how such a twisted situation came to be. But a question did occur to him. “What do you mean by them ‘suffering a filthy instrument’?” he asked hesitantly. 

Cole let out a laugh, soft but harsh at the same time. “I’ve seen you observing me,” he said quietly.

Bog felt a chill roll down his spine. Unease crept into his gut at that simple sentence. 

“What have those _eyes_ of yours noticed?” he asked in that same quiet voice, his own eyes trailing back to the open air off the edge of the balcony. He did not look to Bog as he stood from his leaning position, facing the balcony rail to lean against it. Without another word, he slowly raised his wings, the black fading into darkest blue seeming to soak up what little light there was to see, appearing immensely dark against the backdrop of the night sky, those silvery spots along the bottom edges seeming to dance with a light of their own. 

Cole then tilted his head, looking to Bog from the corner of his eye as his lips quirked up just so. “Don’t blink.”

Bog did not blink. Instead, he gasped. He jumped from the rail, taking a few steps back, staff clutched tightly to him as he gaped at the sight before him.

Cole’s wings were _changing_. Starting at the ends of his wings, a strange flutter took to the appendages, as if looking through heatwaves flowing from a sundrenched rock. As the flutter moved upward, along the plane of his wings, the silky surfaces took on another form, melting into iridescent membranes refracting a rainbow of colors even in the lowlight, leading from pearly translucent at the ends to a deep blue close to the bases. The costals elongated and enlarged, becoming thick and distinct from the rest of the wings, the planes of which were now more narrow, slimming further into their bases. As the flutter faded up to Cole’s back, the odd part where his wings jutted out and bent at an angle took actual shape, forming into elegant wingstalks that embedded into … the back plates of a carapace. 

Bog felt as much as heard his heartrate increasing as he blatantly stared, the transformation complete in only a few seconds. He shook his head, eyes glued to Cole’s altered appendages. “You…” He could hardly believe what he was seeing. 

Aside from slight variances and more rounded ends, Cole’s wings now looked like his.

“Are you really so surprised,” Cole scoffed softly. He stretched his wings further, allowing a shiver to rattle them loudly. He then stood back from the rail, reaching up to tug at the ties of his shirt, releasing parts where it was connected at his collar and back of his neck. He slid the sleeves from his arms, the cloth falling away to drape around his hips as he pulled his hair forward to lay over his shoulder.

Revealed was the smooth skin of Cole’s arms, back and torso. However, his upper back was furnished with carapace scales and back plates, blacker than the night around them. They stretched over his shoulder blades and trailed halfway down his spine, the edges resting over his skin naturally. His wingstalks and costals were also of the same black scaling, all much smoother in appearance than Bog’s own scales. There were also lone plates on his shoulders, flattened to the skin and following the curve of the muscle. Cole turned, finally landing his gaze back on the stunned Bog. At which point the individual plates of his chest were revealed in stark contrast to his pale skin. They conformed to the shape of his pectoral muscles with a smaller plate below each one following the flow of his ribs.

Bog continued to stare, his shock freezing him in place. He shook his head slowly. “How? Why?”

Cole shrugged, lifting his hand to look at his noticeably longer nails. They had changed as well, no longer the pale pink of normal fairy nails, but instead dark, nearly black, at the cuticle and trailing to a silvery clear at their ends. “Have you never heard of glamour?” he asked, sounding amused. “Fae have the ability to project a likeness of their choosing onto their immediate form. _You_ should have the ability too, with the fae blood in your veins,” he looked up, his crystal gaze sharp. “Why? Well,” he tilted his head as he let his hand drop, raising the opposing hand to drag his nails over the stone, “I’m filthy. Don’t you know?” He grinned, showing off canines that were markedly larger than they had been. “And if one cannot wash filth away, then it must be covered, at the very least.”

Bog felt his insides constrict at the prince’s words. His grip on his staff tightened painfully. 

Those words hit him like an arrow flying true to a target. 

“And do you know what makes us so, Bog King?”

He could not stop it. His anger boiled up. “What would that be?” he grated through clenched teeth, a deep growl coloring his voice.

Cole’s grin turned vicious. “Why, the fact that we even exist.” He tilted his head, eyeing Bog from under dark lashes, his crystal blue eyes seeming to glow in the starlight. “Cousin.”

Silence rushed into the space between them. 

Crystal orbs stared into equally crystal orbs. 

“What did you call me?”

“You heard me, Bog King of the Dark Forest.” Cole maintained eye contact as he leaned against the rail, tapping his nails onto the stone. “You and I. We’re cousins. And I don’t mean that in the figurative sense.”

Bog shook his head, incredulity overwhelming him. “What?”

Cole let out a laugh. “You didn’t think to question what you’ve seen? Certainly not.” He let out another laugh. “We carry the same eyes. That is no mistake.”

Bog straightened, moving his staff and ramming the end into the stone of the balcony floor. This was too much. His mind was grasping, trying to make sense of all of this. “Having the same eye color is _not_ grounds for such a statement,” he snarled.

“We don’t just both have blue eyes, majesty,” Cole said calmly, “we have the _exact same_ color blue. And you know who else has the exact same color blue?” He raised a brow. “My father. And you know who had that same color blue before him? My grandfather. And his father before him. And his father before him. And then his father before _him_. That man,” Cole narrowed his eyes, “was _our_ ancestor. And _we_ have the same blue eyes, because he passed them on to his son and daughter. Twins, believe it or not.” He grinned again, stepping from the rail. “And those twins went down very separate but similar paths.” He finally looked away, starting to pace along the balcony. “You see, once upon a time, the Misty Rivers wanted to open relations with their neighbors, specifically, the Dark Forest. The daughter and an entourage traveled to the Dark Forest. They responded well and sent an entourage of their own to the Misty Rivers, among whom was the goblin king’s sister. And things went well. Until…” he shrugged, an exaggerated gesture to which he flitted his wings, “the princess fell in love. With the goblin king. And the prince? Oh, he fell in love too. With the goblin king’s sister.” He glanced to Bog with a smirk. “And guess who didn’t like that?”

Bog shook his head in disbelief. “I have never heard _any_ of this.” He dropped his gaze, trying to think back on his family history. What they knew, anyway. Due to circumstances over the centuries, there were too many times where scrolls or books had been lost or destroyed. A lot of what they knew had come from oral history. And while he knew he was a fifth generation halfblood, there survived no record of how the fae folk had come to reside in the Dark Forest. However, a political entourage was not just something to skip over. 

“Funny you should say that. I had never heard it either.”

Bog’s eyes shot up. “What?”

Cole laughed softly, the sound anything but mirthful. “My family has been told for generation after generation that there was only one child of our forefather. A lovely daughter. And during the time of this forefather’s rein, goblins came to our kingdom seeking refuge due to hard times in the forest. That lovely daughter of the Misty Rivers was trusting and kind to the new residents of our realm. Which, according to them, led to her being… taken advantage of. The union was invalid, the motives questionable, and the child… an abomination.” Cole’s face fell into a blank expression. “But the kingdom can’t go on without a king. The line must continue. And continue it will,” he said softly, raising a hand to look at his nails. “Until the sin of the past is bred out of us, and their trained pets are pure once again.”

Bog stared owlishly, head shaking slowly of its own accord. “I…” His voice died in his throat. 

What was he supposed to say to all of this? Especially not knowing if any of it was even true.

“Render you speechless?” Cole asked with a dark amusement. 

Bog narrowed his eyes, a scowl growing on his face. “Let’s say I believe you,” he ventured. “Let’s say everything you have said is absolutely true.” He tilted his head down, gripping his staff tighter. “Why are you telling me this?”

Cole’s expression became softer, his hand falling to his side. “Because I dug this up in their archives. Which means they knew who you were when Dadga started speaking about his new alliance.” He leveled his gaze. “They’ve known this whole time,” he said shaking his head. “Don’t let their acts fool you. I assure you, they’re good at it. They’ve had centuries of practice, each new member trained to function as flawlessly as the last.” He let out a sigh, his shoulders drooping. “So long as you stayed in your forest and we stayed away from you, it wasn’t an issue. But it is now.” He stepped back to the balcony, resting his hands on the rail. “They won’t suffer _any_ threat to their claim. And _you_ are a threat.” He smiled. “A direct lineage to the throne, an accomplished king… a survivor of war of this very nature.” He spoke slowly, deliberately, before returning his gaze to Bog, his eyes holding a spark. “If you were to ally with us… the royal family in particular, _your_ family…” He shook his head, eyes gleaming. “It would spell their destruction.”

Bog’s breathing had become shallow, his eyes glued to the identical ones in front of him. “You…” it was his turn to speak with deliberate slowness, “… want me to help you start a civil war? To overthrow your council?” His voice quiet, as quiet as his mind currently was. 

Cole was silent a moment, that Cheshire smirk dominating his face before he looked away and shrugged his shoulders. “I know it’s a bit much for a complete stranger to ask. But, I don’t _want_ a civil war if I can help it.” His face fell. “I just want to put them in their place,” he whispered.

“And what of your father?” Bog asked suddenly. “What does he say about all this?”

Cole took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as an unreadable emotion crossed his expression. “My father has… been through much. Because of this council’s actions. He needs this.” He stood from the rail and looked to Bog once more. “We both do.”

Bog stared, abruptly speechless, lost in the despondent look upon the prince’s face. Then, it washed away, and Cole was pulling his shirt back up. Bog blinked numbly as that strange flutter encompassed Cole again. Only a few seconds passed and he looked once more like a pure fairy with nothing to hide. He tightened the cords at his shirt collar, adjusting the lay of the material before meeting his eyes again.

“I don’t expect you to jump at this opportunity, majesty. This is a lot for you to take in, I’m sure. I know it was for me. But please consider what I’ve said carefully.” He smiled, a sad gesture. “It would mean more than you can imagine.”

With that, he turned for the entryway. He stopped as he reached the shadows of the hall, turning his head back a fraction. “Thank you. For allowing me to speak to you,” he said softly. He then continued on his way, his quiet footsteps fading into the silence.

Bog stared after him, shoulders hunched, staff gripped tightly while his free hand was hook-fingered into the air at his side. _What… has just happened?_ he asked into his mind as if he had not been present for the whole event. He shook his head, raising his hand to rub at his temples. 

He was unsure what about the whole situation was harder to grasp. The fact that Cole had asked him, more or less, to join him in starting a war; the fact that history may not be quite what they remembered and that they might actually be _related_ to one another; or the fact Cole and his father Onyx were even half-

Bog froze mentally and physically. He stared at the floor of the balcony. His wings twitched.

“Dagda! I’m gonna kick ye’re-” 

Bog let out a snarl and jumped through the balcony entrance, leaping into the air to fly near full speed to Dagda’s office. He barely registered that Cole was somehow nowhere to be found, but he hardly cared right that moment.

There was no way Dagda was in the dark about his closest comrade’s nature. Which meant Dagda had known the entire time that Onyx and Cole were halfbloods. And had kept this information from him.

For some reason, this factoid alone sparked more anger in him than the whole of the conversation he had just had with the crown prince of the Misty Rivers. 

He made it to hallway leading to Dagda’s office in record time and only landed when he was nearly to the door. Rex had an uncharacteristically stoic expression on his face, hazel eyes trained on him. The other guard was failing at hiding his nervousness.

Bog stormed the last few steps to the door, making no effort to hide his anger. “I know he’s in there- let me in,” he barked, also not willing to put up with pleasantries.

Rex narrowed his eyes, but otherwise did not move, keeping his arms crossed.

“I am in no mood for this, Captain! Open the door!” Bog yelled.

Rex took a deep breath, raising one hand from his crossed arms to run his fingers down his goatee. “One moment,” he said with a calmness that only aggravated Bog further.

“One moment?” Bog crouched, tilting his head as if he had not heard. “I’ll take a bloody moment to break the damn door dow-“ Rex raised his brows slightly, his eyes taking on an odd appearance, as if looking at something hard to read. “REX! If you are in me bloody mind, I’ll-“

“Pfft- please.”

“Excuse _you!?_ ”

“You’d know if I were in your head, your majesty,” Rex said with a smirk, uncrossing his arms to run a hand through his longish auburn hair. “I’m not that smooth.”

Bog gripped his staff tighter and clawed at the air slowly with his free hand. “Rex,” he managed through grit teeth, “would you please open the _damn door_.”

Rex shrugged. “Of course, your majesty,” he said cordially, amusement playing unabashedly across his face. He turned and did as requested, standing back to give Bog a wide birth. “Perhaps a couple shots of snapdragon rum would do you some good,” he chided.

Bog merely growled, his mood hardly helped by the captain’s playfulness. He stomped through the door, steps heavy. He caught sight of Dagda as the door closed behind him and wasted no time, closing the distance to the other king currently standing in front of his desk. “Why didn’t ye tell me?!” he thundered, pointing a clawed finger accusingly.

Dagda, for his part, was the picture of calm. He retained eye contact, and did not move, not even a flinch at Bog’s closeness or the sharp claw dangerously close to his face. “What are you talking about, Bog?” he asked in an even tone.

“I’m talk’n about what ye’ve known this whole bloody time and kept to yerself! Why didn’t ye tell me Onyx and Cole were halfbloods?” Bog shouted, clawing at the air while his wings rattled dangerously behind him.

Dagda blinked, surprise coloring his features. “Eh… wha-“

“Cole told me, showed me even, gave me a good bloody look! And ye’ve not said a word, Dagda- why?” Bog demanded, slamming his staff to the floor.

The older king’s surprise melted away to understanding and he heaved a sigh, resting his hands to his hips. “It wasn’t my place to say-“

“Wasn’ yer place!?” Bog cut him off. “Oh really, now?” he snarled, leaning in further, closer than he would have ever done before.

Dagda seemed unfazed by this, merely meeting Bog’s glare with a stern look of his own. “That’s the truth, Bog.” he insisted. “It wasn’t my information to give, and even if I’d thought it was, I wanted Onyx to be the one to tell you himself.”

Bog growled, jerking his head to the side to crack his neck, blessedly relieving the built-up tension. “Is that so?” he questioned, the growl coloring his voice. “And how long were ye gonna keep this whole bloodline thing from me, eh? What makes ye think that wasn’ enough to say someth’n? That wasn’ something I had a right to know?” His question sounded more an accusation and as far as he was concerned, it was.

The emerald eyes under his glower went wide. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, don’ give me, tha’!” Bog shot, flaring his wings, cutting the air at his side with his hand. "If ye’ve known about them this whole time then ye-” he stopped short. _Oh, right… Cole said he’d only just found this recently…_ His anger dulled a moment as he remembered that important bit of information. “Ah. Wait, okay.” He straightened a bit from his hunch, bobbing a finger into the air. “Okay, that may be news to ye, but – I still had a right to know the rest!” he followed up, pointing that same finger back at Dagda.

Who took his hands from his hips to hold them up in front of him. “Wait- what are you talking about?” he asked, tilting his head in confusion. “What bloodline thing?”

Bog let out a growling groan. He rolled his eyes, shoulders haunching up as he gestured vaguely with his hand. “Cole- Cole told me how he dug through their archives, hidden records the council’s been hiding fer generations an’ we- if he’s even speak’n truth, I don’t- but that, why would he-“

“What,” Dagda cut in, “are you talking about?” he asked again, his voice slow, tone deceptively calm, eyes never leaving Bog’s.

He felt a shiver run down his spine at that, his anger taking a hit at the other king’s intense gaze. His wings betrayed him with a soft rattle as he let out a small huff through his nose, taking a step back. “Cole says we have a common ancestor,” he answered. He raised his hand to pinch his nose. “We’re related. Bloody long-distance cousins! Tha’s how goblins came to be in the Misty Rivers, tha’s how fae folk came to be in the Dark Forest. Three- four generations back- our great, great grand someth’n or other! We’re literally related, not just a play on words.”

Silence met his words. He slowly cringed in on himself as the crackle of the fire became the only sound filling the room. Bog peeked open one eye, apprehensive curiosity getting the better of him.

Dagda was still staring, but not at him. His eyes had floated downward, hands frozen in front of him. He had gone completely still as if this revelation had even stopped his breath.

Bog swallowed nervously. “Uh… Dag-“

“WHAT!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this round, but packing a punch, eh?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many people can we p*ss off in one day?  
> A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.  
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.

_‘So how did it go?’_

_‘I think it went quite well.’_

_‘He’s joining us then?’_

_‘We don’t know that yet.’_

_‘…’_

_‘I’m not going to push him too hard. He needs time. This is all new to him.’_

_‘We must act quickly. You know this.’_

_‘We can spare a night to let him think this over.’_

_‘You think he will need… motivation.’_

_‘I didn’t say that.’_

_‘…’_

_‘Do not do anything rash. Understood.’_

_‘Good night, my prince. You should get some rest. You’ll need it.’_

_‘And you are patronizing me, why?’_

_‘Hm, hm, not at all, your highness. I shall speak with you tomorrow.’_

_‘... Heed my word Ta’Kheta. Do not do anything rash.’_

_‘As you say, your highness.’_

Cerulean eyes swathed in a deep azure glow opened in the darkness of the dirt and rock room. A huff escaped the being’s nose as it stood from its perch of old rotted tree root. It started forward, glow lighting up the room as it moved through the space, its long navy hair wafting behind it over its shoulders as if smoke following a lit candle. Its skin shimmered with the azure color, bright pinpricks appearing here and there like the stars that flickered in the darkened sky. The only article it wore, as it appeared to have no need of clothing, was a gold neckband, an entirely solid piece encircling the base of its neck.

Ta’Kheta smiled, mild but vicious as his glow washed over the creature he walked towards. It lowered its head, bowing to its master, waiting his command. “My pet,” he cooed, his deep voice echoing with a resonance that would have chilled any eavesdropper to the bone. He raised a hand to run it over the creature’s long snout, fading upwards into the hair of its mane. “The villages to the west have been comfortable for long enough. Wouldn’t you agree?” He chuckled to himself, knowing the brute under his fingertips understood nothing of his words. He gripped the hair of the mane tightly. “Let us go and fetch our bate.”

**~*~**

Dagda took a deep breath of the fresh night air, still warm even after midnight. The breeze was stronger up where he and Rex stood, a higher branch off one of the trees just beyond the grounds of the castle. The air shuffled their hair and wings as they looked towards the north, though not uncomfortably so. Certainly not enough to distract from their task.

“Getting close,” Rex said, glancing upward, gauging the time from the position of the constellations.

“Mhm,” Dagda affirmed, the fingers wrapped around the large spyglass at his side clenching and unclenching as nerves played at his insides. His thoughts were all over the place. Which he felt he could hardly be blamed for.

Bog’s revelation had hit rather rough for more than one reason.

Once the shock had worn off, and a healthy dose of alcohol applied, he had been able to think a bit more clearly about what this meant. Yes, he had known Onyx and therefore his son were halfbloods, which he had explained to Bog. He and Onyx had known each other nearly their entire lives after all; he discovered this a _long_ time ago. But the relation? A common ancestor? A direct link between the Dark Forest and the Misty Rivers? That was what floored him. But as amazing as that revelation was, what was disturbing about the whole thing was that Cole had found this out… but had kept it secret from his father.

At Bog’s questioning, he assured him, this _had_ been kept a secret from Onyx. No matter when Cole found this information, if he had mentioned it to his father, then he would have known too. 

Because Onyx told him damnear everything.

He knew what was going on in Misty Rivers, just as he knew Onyx was a halfblood. And, while he apologized once again to Bog for not saying anything about the royal family’s status, he had to iterate: He may have known this whole time, but it was not common knowledge. Very few in the kingdom knew their royal line has been halfblood this whole time. The fact that it was kept a secret like this, as evidenced by Cole’s words, spoke to how the council treated them. And he knew- not everything- but he knew of the things the council had done to Onyx, his father Barios before him, and most of what Onyx had protected Cole from after him. He knew all these things because Onyx confided in him, and he in Onyx. And Onyx would have jumped at telling him about this lost familial relation. 

It changed so much, if the story were true. 

At the very least it changed history as they knew it. And considering what the entire Misty Rivers royal line had been told for generations, it meant a lot to know that the apparent sin of their past was a fabrication. Not that it should ever have been held against the present generations regardless. 

That brought the conversation back around to their suspicions of Cole. Why would he keep this a secret from his father? And with that being a high likelihood, why was he going behind his back to do… whatever this is he was doing? It just did not make sense. Bog had suggested that perhaps it was a ploy, a fabrication of itself. Perhaps Cole had, unthinkably, switched sides on the matter. 

As much as Dagda could not trust Cole’s actions, he could not fathom that either. Cole had to know at least as much as he did about the council’s corruptions and mistreatments. Why he would suddenly align with their motives was beyond him. Part of him had considered that, perhaps, with Cole having more fae blood than any of the previous generations beforehand, barely having need of the glamour except for his wings and nails, the council had used it to tilt his opinion on the matter. Perhaps having nearly all of the “impurity” gone from him was some accomplishment that goaded him into serving their motives. But really, that made no more sense than him keeping this secret he had found. Bog had attested to that, with the way Cole had spoken about the council and what he had suggested. Though feasibly, even that could have been an act.

The whole thing was driving Dagda up the wall. He felt his face mar with a glare as he shuffled his wings behind him, gripping the spyglass too tight. He just did not know. Good heavens, for all he knew, he did not know enough and this was tearing him apart. 

Though, he wondered if it was the satiation itself or his utter blindness to the signs and clues hinting at it that stoked his anger so.

Bog had held more understanding than he could have asked for at the time. “We’ll figure this out. We have to,” he had said.

“ _I_ have to,” Dagda had insisted. He remembered the creaking of the wooden back of the chair under his hands as he had gripped it tight, the pain in his fingers an offset to his internal frustrations. “I can’t let this…” He had been unable to finish that statement, not wanting to vocalize what could happen, what may have happened already due to his failure.

“ _We_ have to, Dagda,” Bog had insisted sternly. “We’re all together in this. We won’t fail.”

Dagda took a deep breath, allowing Bog’s words to float around in his mind. It meant more than he could articulate that Bog would be so willing, so sure about his part to play in this. He was going to stand by his alliance. His friendship. Despite how new it was. That was so much more than he had expected and far more than he would have wished for.

“Time to start looking,” Rex said quietly, raising his own spyglass. “You sure you don’t want the longview?” he asked with a grin. 

A momentary flicker of annoyed amusement flared and Dagda rolled his eyes. “No, no, you have fun with that monstrosity,” he answered. He hated the contraption Rex held, a spyglass with a horizontally elongated lens and barrel that allowed one to look at a broader view of the horizon. However, it had to be held even more precisely than a standard spyglass and he had never been good with it. He held his own up, aiming at their northern border, but farther to the right, trying to glimpse even further north to the Misty Rivers’ northern border up the foot of the mountain. That would be where the “supposed” border dispute should be happening based on Cole’s words. There was no way with the glasses they held that they would see even a hint of people, villages or anything of that nature. But what they were looking for would be just barely noticeable. That would be good enough.

If it showed up.

Dagda pushed his lips together in a tight line, scanning what he could see of the scarcely visible mountain slope in the distance. The mists were calmer at night, but the haze was there all the same. Even so, the spark they needed to see would be visible.

They were looking for the feintest spark and glow signaling a flare had been shot off. 

The report from Dawn and Sunny earlier in the day stating the total absence of border activity had unnerved him. It was unusual in that, just like with his own patrols, at least one should have been spotted within the span of an hour. The fact that they had spent nearly two hours out there with not a lick of motion anywhere was abnormal. Though, he could not rule out that perhaps the patrol schedules had been altered due to this apparent dispute. Perhaps a majority of the patrols were at attention with Onyx onsite. If that were the case, it was understandable and hardly worth being concerned over.

It would also mean Onyx would have received the communique he sent via dagger fly. The message was simple and not unusual for them depending on the situation.

**Fire up**

**Count of three**

**One after**

Anyone else reading the note might have to ponder the meaning behind the words, but Onyx would understand loud and clear: Shoot a flare upward from your current location, fire three times, one hour after midnight. Even if Onyx did not have a flare cannon with him, a dagger fly’s speed meant there was more than enough time for him to get one to his location before the requested time. They were not very large or heavy by design, compact enough a single man could carry it with ease, even in flight. 

If the situation was as simple as Cole said, then he expected to see three brief sparks in the distance. And if he saw them, he also expected he would be receiving a return communique in short order. If not…

“Got anything?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Rex answered. “Looking pretty dark. You said three-shot, just in case, yeah?”

“Yup,” Dagda affirmed, moving the glass back and forth slowly. 

“Hmm.”

He and Rex remained quiet, simply searching the horizon. The seconds ticked by slowly. The breeze picked up as the seconds turned to minutes. 

With the agonizing feeling that only the stretching time could give, the minutes continued their trek. By the time a half hour had passed, Dagda was gripping his spyglass so hard he could swear he could feel indents.

Onyx had not received his message.

He lowered the spyglass and stared at the mountains in the distance, the silvery trails of the rivers winding to their mist hazed bases. He did not need to look to know Rex had already done the same. 

“So,” Rex said quietly, “communication is cut off.”

Dagda said nothing to the statement.

“What’s the plan?”

He took a slow deep breath, gaze never leaving the mountains. Without another word he turned, stepping off the branch to fall into the air, stretching his wings and gliding smoothly into flight.

Rex remained still a moment, observing his sovereign’s red wings, appearing a faded black in the dark of the night. A small, rueful smile quirked at his lips. “I wish the circumstances were better,” he whispered, “but it’s good to have you back, my King.”

With that, he stepped off as well, slipping into form to follow his liege.

**~*~**

“Well this is just great!” Bog turned away to pace his aggravation into the floor, barely noticing the hookbeak messenger in front of him flinching downward in the early morning light.

Three villages in the northern marshes had been attacked in the middle of the night. The reports indicated the residents had been forcibly taken, though each village had just one that had managed to get away to the southern inlets to give warning. He was no idiot.

That was a calculated allowance.

A deep growl resonated through his chest as he turned on his heel, his pacing inciting the nerves of those around him. _If Cole thinks I’m such a fool to believe this is coincidence, he is sorely mistaken,_ Bog snarled into his own mind. 

“Sire,” Elder Cog spoke up.

He whipped around, his icy eyes dripping fire.

“What is it?” Cog asked, those aged eyes of his looking into him like a well-read book.

Elder Bow crossed his arms next to him. “What have we missed?”

The trust of his elders and the rapt attention of the rest of his goblins did some to soothe his anger. But it burned all the same. He huffed out a snarl, turning to twirl his staff in his fingers, weaving it around his body. He relished the familiar pull on his wrist, the weight as it shifted so easily under his command. He then snapped his grip tight and slammed the end into the stone floor of their common area, the sound of the strike like music to his ears. “This report is no accident,” he said, his wings rattling behind him. He felt as much as heard the stillness come over his goblins. He turned to look at them, gaze falling to his elders. “I had a little… _discussion_ with the crown prince of Misty Rivers last night,” he confided, acid dripping from his words.

The response was immediate. 

He preened, his scales shivering to attention as he watched his people bow up, subtle growls filling the room. Gazes filling with anger started meeting his own and immense satisfaction poured in to mingle with his ire. “He had quite a few _interesting_ things to say. And it appears he is unwilling to wait for my response to his… _proposition_ ,” he grated.

“And what,” Elder Cog let out the low hissing growl only an undine could produce, “would this proposition be, exactly?”

Bog stepped forward, letting his staff scape the floor as he crouched low, scales flaring, wings coming to attention behind him. “Let me tell you _all_ about it,” he seethed.

**~*~**

Marianne bit back the anxiety trying to overwhelm her as she pushed her wings harder. Not that she needed to fly full speed, she knew he would wait for her. But the urge to see him overwhelmed her common sense.

Bog was leaving. 

She had received just a brief rundown from one of the guards. Something about the northern marshes being attacked and Bog was going to personally survey the situation. As bad as that sounded, part of her could not shake the feeling that there was more to it. And that did not sit well in her stomach.

She rounded the corner to the east hall and saw him in the doorway speaking to his elders. His silhouette was glaring against the morning sun and she could see just by his posture how pent up he was. That did not help her own nerves, but it was a relief to see him all the same.

“Bog!” she called. He turned to her and she could see the anger in his eyes. She lighted a few yards away and started towards him on foot. “I came as soon as I was told-“ she skipped a step as he fully faced her and walked her way, steps heavy against the stone floor. For a split second, a sliver of fear sliced into her heart at the thought his anger might be directed at her. A brief glimpse of memory washed behind her open eyes of the moment months ago when he had thought she had betrayed his trust.

That night Roland’s little contingent had marched on his castle.

Her mouth suddenly went dry as she watched him storming up to her, staff held down and low, wings at attention behind him, his shoulder scales bristling. She froze, unable to move with the mental standoff in her mind; part of her knowing he could not possibly be angry at her, but part of her fearing that exact thought. In mere moments he was in front of her, towering over her, and she simply stared, unable to bring words to her mouth.

Then, his hand was at the back of her neck and the world around them disappeared as his lips crashed down onto hers. Her wings snapped open and she wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling herself flush with him as his lips continued their conquest. His tongue delved between her teeth with little resistance and she had to fight back a moan as she rose to her toes. She arched her body against him as he leaned forward, his heat, his ardor, the feel of his scales against her skin and clothes igniting her senses. Once again, it was as if she were a fine-tuned instrument and he were the artist, playing her expertly and she could have continued, relishing the melody they were making, eager to hear more of the song.

However, considering their present situation and audience, this was going to have to go further at a later time.

He drew back, their lips parting as they both panted for air. He rested his forehead to hers, his palm resting to her cheek as his fingers stayed twined possessively into her hair. She opened her eyes to see his still closed and smiled as he rubbed his nose along hers. 

“I needed tha’,” he whispered, opening his eyes to pierce her with those crystal motes.

She raked her teeth over her bottom lip, gazing back as she held onto him tightly. “Anytime,” she breathed out in a husky voice. Their circumstances melted back into her mind, though, and her smile faltered. “What’s going on?”

His own endearing expression melted, and he closed his eyes to press his forehead tighter to hers. He then pulled away, his hand drifting down her neck to graze over her shoulder and grip her arm lovingly. “Go to ye’re father. He’ll fill ye in,” he said quietly.

Her brows drew down as she pulled her arms around from his middle to squeeze his sides. 

He smiled almost sadly at the look on her face. “I have to go now. It’ll be fine.” He took a step back and she reluctantly let go, resisting the urge to pout childishly as his hand left her arm.

Noise from the end of the hall drew both their attentions. When they turned to look, Marianne was surprised to see Cole and his captain, Lex, rounding the corner. What surprised her even more was Cole’s expression, his face washed with concern which only deepened the moment he laid eyes on them. She schooled herself, trying to look as neutral as she could. She then blinked in confusion as Cole stopped short, his eyes widening as he looked over her shoulder. She felt the rush of air behind her before she heard the hard slap of metal to flesh. She whipped around to see Bog glaring down the hall, eyes locked with the prince as he lowered the head of his staff, leveling the weapon to point right at him. She forgot to breathe as she looked at the cold fury in his eyes, the sound of the deep growl rumbling through his chest gracing her ears.

 _Heavens, you’re beautiful,_ she thought despite the situation. 

Marianne then blinked and shook her head, a tiny gasp of a breath filling her lungs as she remembered her surroundings. She looked down the hall to see Cole tilting his head forward, lips pressed in a thin line. Without a word or any other pretense, he turned on his heal, wings whipping behind him in a flurry. Lex stayed a moment, leveling a glare of his own to Bog before he too turned, following his prince.

Marianne shook her head, confusion overwhelming her. “What was that-“

“Like I said,” Bog’s low, growl-filled voice cut her off, “get to ye’re father. He’ll tell ye everyth’n.” He leaned forward when she turned to him, running his other hand into her hair as he kissed her forehead. He lowered his head, looking her in the eye earnestly. “Marianne,” he whispered barely above a breath, “stay away from Cole.” He shook his head in a twitching motion. “We cannae trust’im.”

She held his gaze, dread bubbling up her throat, but nodded all the same. “Dad’ll explain?”

He nodded. “He’ll explain.” He then darted forward quickly, a chaste grazing of his lips to hers before he finally turned and started to the door full stride. “Rachamaid!” he hollered, the throaty goblin speak tearing from his lips as he swung his staff above his head.

Marianne bit her lip, clenching her fists at her sides as she watched him take to the air, three dragonfly mounts raising from the courtyard below to meet him. She continued watching as he took off, Stuff, Thang and one of his guard following close behind. 

A warm hand on her arm caused her to jump lightly and she looked to her right. Elder Cog had closed the distance to her side, watching his king intently. He then turned his frosty, grey eyes to her and nodded. “Best get the rundown, ghradhaich. And keep ye’re eyes open,” he grumbled, jerking his head down the hall as he patted her arm.

She schooled her face, steeling her resolve. “You too,” she said with a nod. She turned and walked a few steps before jumping into the air, taking flight down the hall. 

**~*~**

_‘TA’KHETA! What did you do?’_ Cole yelled into the link.

_‘Good morning, your highness. Did you sleep well?’_

_‘Do not toy with me- what did you do?’_

_‘Don’t worry, your highness~ This is all according to plan,’_ his smug voice answered.

 _‘Rather hard not to worry when I have an angry Bog King threatening me in the hallway of Green Meadows!’_ Cole retorted, a growl leaving his physical lips as he stormed back to the common rooms. He allowed a brief image of the memory to slip into their connection, trying to drive his point home.

 _‘Oh, don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little showmanship?’_ Ta’Kheta teased, his tone bordering on condescending.

 _‘Don’t insult me!’_ he seethed, barely containing his own anger. _‘I told you-‘_

 _‘Not to do anything rash,’_ the other cut him off. _‘And I didn’t! It was a perfectly calculated move. And it’ll get exactly the result we want, I assure you,’_ he purred into the link.

Cole slammed through the door, paying no regard to common courtesy or concern of the foreign castle’s property. _‘Ta’Kheta, I swear if you-‘_

“What’s the matter, boy?” The voice cut through his mental tirade like a knife straight into his skull. “Upset that your _friend_ is up and leaving so soon?”

Cole clenched his teeth so hard he felt his jaw slip. He whipped around to glare at Cerian across the room, his anger shooting throughout his body like lightning. “How dare you address me so carelessly,” he hissed.

Cerian’s sickly smirk devolved into a sneer, his grey-black eyes dripping disdain. “Your father will hear about this disgusting attitude you’ve suddenly developed-“

“My father-“ Cole’s words halted, his rage squeezing his throat closed as he glowered at the man across the room. He took in the ungratefully proud stance, crossed arms and superior expression as the older man tilted his head, as if waiting for the pointless rebuttal of a child. Cole let his face drop into a calm expression, raising his chin and looking down his nose at the head of the council across the room. “My _father_ will hear plenty,” he said in a velvety smooth voice, allowing an unglamoured grin to grace his features. Satisfaction dripped into his mind at the repulsed look that melted into the man’s face.

“Cover your shame,” Cerian uttered through grit teeth, turning in a flurry of wings and cloak to storm his own path back to his private quarters.

The protective zeal melting through the primary link in his mind calmed him to a degree, and he sent an expression of thankfulness back through to his captain. Lex shuffled behind him, a barely audible huff leaving his nose. He then returned his attention to the other link. _‘Ta’Kheta.’_

_‘Yes, your highness?’_

_‘Do not fail me.’_

A facsimile of a chuckle resonated through the connection. _‘Yes. Your highness.”_

**~*~**

Her grip on her sword was tight, an ache spreading into her fingers. She welcomed it as a distraction from her anxiety and dread. Marianne clenched her teeth tightly, wings straining as she fought to both fly faster and hold back at the same time. She was so focused on the twists and turns necessary to make it to her father’s office that she nearly flew right into Dawn.

“Marianne!”

“GAH!” She hovered back, just barely restraining the urge to draw her sword. “Dawn! What-“

“Marianne, we need you now!” Dawn flew forward and grabbed her arm, tugging her towards the direction she had come from.

“What? Why?”

“It’s Puk! He smells something,” Dawn said, tugging harder, her grip surprisingly strong.

“Wha- Dawn, can’t you handle it?” Marianne asked with incredulity. “There’s some really important-“

“Mari!” Dawn yelped, yanking her arm sharply.

“Ow! Fu- Dawn!” Marianne tried to pull her arm back and had to do a doubletake at her younger sister’s grip when she failed to break free from it. “Why do you need me?” she asked, refocusing on the apparent emergency.

“We think he’s headed to _your_ room!”

Marianne froze, only her wings fluttered consistently to keep her afloat. “What?”

Dawn groaned, though it lacked the sisterly playfulness that the noise usually carried. “Marianne, Puk followed me and Sunny back to the castle last night, and we played with him and ran around with him as usual, and everything was fine, he fell asleep with us all cuddled up and then this morning, he woke up and just, just,” she finally let go of Marianne’s arm to fling her hands into the air, shaking her head manically, “he just went berserk!” she spouted, looking to Marianne in desperation. “He ran out of the room and started sniffing around everywhere and then started leading us on this wild romp around the castle getting all riled up the more he’s running around and now he’s headed to your room, we think, and he’s, like, getting angry and upset and-“

“Dawn!” Marianne gripped Dawn’s shoulders, shaking gently. 

Dawn blinked rapidly as she met Marianne’s eyes. She shook her head, clasping her hands in front of her. “Marianne, come on! I don’t know what’s going on but,” she looked down the hall, “maybe it’s important,” she said, returning her concerned gaze to her sister. “He’s never done this before.”

Marianne took a deep breath, squeezing Dawn’s shoulders. “Okay. Okay, we’ll check it out,” she said with a nod. “But if turns out he’s just playing while something serious is going on, we’re gonna have to have a talk,” she said sternly, letting go to start down the hall.

Dawn followed closely. “What do you mean something serious?” she called.

“Bog had to go back to the Dark Forest,” Marianne answered. “Something’s happened in his northern marshes.”

“Oh no!” Dawn clasped her hands to her face. “What-“

“And another thing,” Marianne angled her wings and dropped back even with Dawn, leaning close, “stay away from Cole,” she whispered. 

“What, why? I mean, I know-“

“That’s what I was going to see Dad about,” Marianne hissed. “Bog said he would explain.”

“Oh,” Dawn breathed. “Then, we should go see dad after this.”

Marianne nodded. “Oh yeah,” she agreed.

They continued down the hall, tracing the turns that headed back to the central hall before starting down the turns that headed to the rooms. They dodged guard and guest alike, smiling and waving as if nothing was amiss. They were able to keep the façade up until the snarling and growling echoing from down the private northwest wing caught their attention. Marianne and Dawn shared a glance before speeding up. They caught sight of Sunny, pacing side to side, tiny hands gripping his hair tightly as Puk clawed and writhed at a bedroom door.

Marianne’s bedroom door.

“Sunny!” Dawn swooped down and slid to her knees, catching Sunny in a hug. 

He yelped but reflexively hugged her back. “Oh thankheavensDawn- you found her!” Frantic eyes found Marianne’s and Sunny shook his head. “I-we don’t know what’s going on! He’s going crazy!” He wrenched an arm loose to throw a hand in Puk’s direction.

The aforementioned imp was still clawing and growling, angry snarling noises breaking through every now and then. He already had a good collection of scrapes and scratches along the bottom of her door. He had even managed to wrench out slivers of wood in his attempt to burrow under it, shards littering the floor at his sides.

Marianne shook her head in disbelief. “Puk, what are you doing?” She stepped to the door and knelt carefully, trying to get close but retain a safe amount of distance. She reached out and gently touched the little imp’s back with the tips of her fingers.

He gave a hissing snarl and shot his head her direction, huge ears flattened behind him. As soon as he caught sight of her, he perked up. He did not smile, however, but stood and started motioning between her and the door, banging his little clawed hands against the wood. He started moving his mouth quickly, making rough noises interspersed with squeaks and screeches. 

Marianne shook her head, clearly confused. “What?”

“RAAAAHHG!” Puk gripped his ears and pulled them in frustration before he stood tall on his back feet. He took a deep breath and puffed his chest out, then grinned, bearing all of his crooked teeth as he ran a tiny hand over one of his ears and winked. He then dropped back on his haunches and pointed to the door while growling.

Marianne stared. She blinked slowly, looking from Puk to the door, as if the door itself would hold the answers. She then glanced over Puk to Dawn and Sunny. They looked up from staring at the imp to shake their heads in unison.

Puk let out a suddenly vicious snarl and gave up, pouncing on the door. He rammed headfirst into the wood, a loud cracking sound filling the hall.

“PUK! No!” Marianne grabbed the Imp in a panic, but relief washed over her when she saw it was just her door that had split slightly along the grain. “Fine, fine! I’ll open it!” 

Instead of grinning and nodding with happy squeals as they all would have expected, Puk snarled and growled, looking to the wooden obstacle and tensing in Marianne’s arms as if readying himself for something. 

Marianne was not sure what it was exactly, but the anxiety from earlier was starting to get worse with this strange behavior from their normally happy-go-lucky imp friend. She gripped the handle of her door and made to push down.

The handle did not move.

Her insides froze over _. I didn’t lock my door this morning._ A split second of reasoning raced through her mind, thinking perhaps it was her handmaids, but she immediately threw that thought out. They would not lock her door unless she requested it or if she were already in her room during an emergency.

Instinct took over. 

In one fluid motion she transferred Puk to her left arm and drew her sword. A wide arch and a downward stroke into the seam of the door had the lock broken and a kick had the panels bursting open. Puk jumped out of her arm before she could stop him and darted in, nose to the floor as he traced a path to her vanity. Marianne glanced around her room, noting it looked no different than this morning. She looked to the vanity as Puk jumped up on a stool. 

There was an envelope on the vanity top.

Puk took one sniff, hissed, then looked to the back wall of her room. An awful mixture of a growl, snarl and scream erupted from his mouth as he lunched off the stool to run at the wall. 

Marianne tightened her grip on her sword, hair bristling at the back of her neck as a glare worked its way onto her face.

Puk was now clawing at the entrance of the hidden passage of her room.

She whipped her head around to spy Dawn and Sunny in her doorway, eyes on Puk. “Go get the castle guard. Now!” she ordered. “And tell them to post a guard at the exit of my bedroom passage!”

Only a split second of hesitation fluttered over their faces before they both nodded. Dawn picked Sunny up under his arms and took to the air. “Be careful!” she called over her shoulder.

Marianne looked to the wall as Puk continued to claw and dig, his claws making no headway against the stone. “You’ve done good, Puk,” she said with surprising calm. “I need you to wait out here for me now, okay.”

He stopped what he was doing to look at her, bright black eyes wide as his face calmed down. He scowled lightly and shook his head. “Eeoo-ah!”

She smiled, kneeling down to run a hand over the soft fur of his head. “Please. I want someone on this side when I go into the tunnel.” 

He made a groaning noise and crossed his arms. He then tilted his head and shuffled back, giving an exaggerated sigh. 

“Thank you,” Marianne said, reaching further to scratch her fingers behind his ears. 

He looked at her with wide eyes and an earnest expression. She got the impression he was asking her to be careful. She nodded with a warm smile before turning back to the wall. She stood, the smile falling away as she gripped her sword tighter. She stepped forward, raising her left hand to feel at the wall, finding the near invisible seam with ease. She pushed, the pivot giving way smoothly with the sound of grating rock. As the darkness of the passage opened up to her, she waited for a moment. She took a deep breath, the musty rock and lichen smell of the tunnel assaulting her nose. She steeled herself and started in.

Shifting her weight with practiced ease, her steps were near silent as the dark enveloped her. Tilting her head to the side, she listened. For the moment, there was not a sound to be heard aside from her own soft shifting. Marianne narrowed her eyes, then closed them. Her blindfold training had been for more than one purpose, and it was proving itself now. The air pressure guided her easily with the help of her mental image of the tunnel. 

Marianne continued to creep softly, already several yards in, and had to resist the urge to let out a noise of frustration. _About a third of the way,_ she thought, twitching her ears, still listening and hearing nothing. She took another deep breath, testing the air. 

Then froze.

She quietly breathed out then back in through her nose, taking another sample of air. An earthy, musky scent tickled her senses. She clenched her teeth, holding her sword securely as she started to raise her left hand. Opening her eyes to the darkness, she waited, listening, left arm drifting further up. 

In the silence of the dark, she strained her ears to hear something, anything. She felt her brows draw down, frustration and anger starting to build. _I know you’re here,_ she growled into her mind. Then, she felt it – a change in air pressure.

Someone in front of her had let out the breath they had been holding. 

She slapped her hand against the mossy ceiling of the tunnel and dragged it forward. The moss lit up like a flame, blue-green light flaring into the space and trailing down the passage in front of her. She heard the gasp as her eyes caught sight of the figure a couple yards up. “Don’t move!” she shouted.

True to expectation, the figure turned and ran, a dingy brown cloak billowing out behind. She jolted into a run, gaining on the figure who was clearly not prepared to break for it. She flipped her sword around in her hand as she closed the distance, slamming the butt of the hilt down between the shoulders. A shout and muffled curse erupted from the figure as it stumbled and she quickly threw her shoulder into its back, using a quick thrust of her wings for extra momentum. Down they both went with a muffled “ooof!” from the figure. She rose up and planted her knees in the figure’s back, getting a grip at the material of the hood. “I hope you’re not shy!” she spat, ripping the hood back.

Marianne’s breath halted in her lungs despite her body’s need for air. She stared, the sight below her completely at odds with the fact that she _should not be seeing_ the sight below her. 

He cringed underneath her, face melting into a mixture of panic, hopefulness and terror all in one. “Okay… I know what you wanna do… But I-“

His next words were cut off as her fist collided with his face.

**~*~**

Dagda stared at the object facing him, tapping his thumbs to his lips as he weighed his options. He took a deep breath, unclasping his hands from in front of him to lean back in his chair, eyes never leaving the reflective surface. The mirror in front of him, set up on a pedestal and showing him his own visage, was no ordinary tool.

It was a scrying glass.

It was one of a set of five. Three were full size, about the length and breadth of his forearm, and two were smaller, though large enough to fill his had if he stretched out his fingers. Each one was backed with a fifth of the single chunk of purified quartz that had been mined to make them. These glasses were tuned to each other, since their stones had been one piece to begin with, so when a user channeled into one of them, they could access any of the others of that same stone. Dagda had four of the five glasses of this set safely tucked away in his office. 

The fifth was somewhere in the Misty Rivers.

It was a long shot that this would be a viable way of contacting Onyx. But if he did not try, he would never know. Though, being honest with himself, Dagda had completely forgotten about the scrying glasses until just this morning. So, he could not assume Onyx would remember any more than he had. For all he knew, it was tucked away in an old wardrobe somewhere. That was where this one had been, packed away and forgotten with the others in one of his many office cabinets.

Dagda leaned to the side, setting his elbow on the arm of his chair as he ran his hand over his beard to rest his fingers against his chin. He continued to stare at the mirror. He let out a groan, sitting up and thumping his elbows to the desk top, running his fingers into his eyes. 

He knew what the issue was. Part of him was afraid of what he may see. 

Another part of him was far more afraid of what he would not see. 

He had the inescapable feeling in the back of his mind that this simply would not work. Just as the attempted dagger fly message, this would not work either and he would be back to square one again. 

A never-ending loop of failure.

Dagda lowered his head, raking his fingers into his hair, which he absently noted was getting longer. _Enough of this mess,_ he growled into his mind. _We can’t afford to wait on my misgivings._ His thoughts drifted to Bog, storming into his office once again, not so long ago this morning, but this time fury directed elsewhere. He raised his head, looking into the glass that was currently doing its duty as a mirror. He stared at his own emerald motes in the reflection. _Either Onyx knows what Cole is up to, or he needs to know._ He narrowed his eyes. _And we can’t afford to waste any more time figuring that out._ With that, he reached out and rested his hands on the sides of the mirror, holding tightly to the polished silver of the frame. He took a deep breath through his nose, then let the air out through his mouth. 

He focused internally, reaching into his mind. It had been a long while since he had attempted to open his mental threshold and pull from the energy there. Trying to find it again was like reaching an arm into a mud pit to find a precious gem. Though, tracing the path felt familiar, as if walking a well-traveled road. 

_There it is…_

He gasped lightly through his nose as his vision sharpened, a prickling sensation flaring from the centre of his mind. He felt his pupils contract and the morning light seemed to fade in the air around him. At the same time, the glare of where it touched any surface brightened. He pushed just a little further into his threshold and was rewarded with a pleasant thrum pooling into his mind. He directed it outward, and focused it down his arms, feeling the hum of energy flowing freely. The vibration of it pulsed into his fingertips and he felt the cool of the silver start to warm as the energy transferred easily at the contact. He let his breath out slowly, feeling for the frequency of the stone at the mirror’s back. 

Like the melody of an instrument, the sound of the stone reverberated into his mind. He could hear the songs of its partners, buzzing gently in the same cabinet from which he had retrieved this one. He narrowed his eyes, hearing the distant song of the fifth stone, trilling quietly from the north. He focused on that song, tugging like a fisherman on his line. 

The connection was made.

Dagda blinked rapidly as the reflective surface changed, an image blending into existence on the other side of the glass. Like looking through a window, he could see now whatever was facing the other mirror, and whoever was on the other side would see what faced his. There was only one problem.

There was nothing to see. 

His shoulders slumped. It was dark on the other side wherever the other glass was. He could just barely make out a light-colored line running horizontally along the left side. It was the seam of two closed doors.

The mirror was in a closet. 

Or a cupboard, or a cabinet, but either way it was packed away just as he had suspected. And he could not hear anything from the other side either, which could only mean it was in a place not much used or, at the very least, no one was currently in the room it was stored in. 

Dagda huffed, letting go of the frame to lean back and stare at the inside of whatever it was the other mirror was sitting in. “Well, at least it isn’t broken,” he whispered. He bit the inside of his lip and leaned forward again, raising a brow. He reached out and tapped his glass experimentally. Since sound could be heard clearly just as sights on the other side could be seen, perhaps he could get someone’s attention. He listened, trying to gauge if by some miracle anybody had heard his tapping. There was nothing to indicate so. He crossed his arms against the desk. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he felt a tad silly at the prospect of talking to the glass with no one on the other side. But, it was best to be sure. Otherwise this experiment would have been a total waste of time instead of just a minor waste of time. 

“Hello?” he called, somewhat quiet but still loud enough that if anyone were in the room they should have heard. He cleared his throat. “Is anyone in here?” He looked at the back of whatever door was closed in front of the glass and tilted his head, straining his ears to hear anything from the room beyond. “If you can hear me, please say something. Or open the door?” He waited.

Nothing.

He scowled at the mirror. Though, he had no right to be mad at an inanimate object. He had known this was going to be an attempt to grasp at straws. He heaved a sigh and uncrossed his arms to run his hands over his face. _Dammit…_

He suddenly froze as sensation in his mind caught his attention. 

His link with Rex fluttered to the forefront of his focus. He sat up straight in his chair as he felt for it, realizing Rex had dulled their connection. Concern flooded in as he stood, gripping the scrying mirror to sever the useless attempt at communication. He barely glanced the glass returning to a reflective state as he started to the side of his desk. He only made it two steps when his office door burst open. 

Rex trotted in with purpose but stopped short, his expression stony. “Majesty.”

“What is it, Rex?” Dagda instinctively pushed at their link and his worry was not helped when Rex purposely kept it dulled.

“We’ve found the person who left the note, Sire.”

He went still. “And?” he prompted.

“He was found in the tunnel passage of Marianne’s room after having left a second note,” Rex continued. His face was schooled, his eyes sharp.

Dagda narrowed his own and tilted his head forward, apprehension clawing at his insides. “ _And?_ ” he ventured, his voice low.

Rex was quiet a moment, hazel eyes holding his gaze as he took a deep breath. 

“It’s Roland.”

_Oh. I see._

Searing fury thrummed to life in his chest, spreading outward like molten rock. It dripped down his spine and melted into his limbs, setting his nerve endings ablaze. It crackled down his costals as his wings shivered, raising to attention behind him. Its heat bristled through his skin and the pain of his grip on the edge of his desk did little to discourage it.

Dagda fisted his free hand, his knuckles cracking as he stood to his full height, his emerald eyes gleaming with the barely restrained beast of his anger that was ready to be loosed. 

“Bring the bastard to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: According to Google Translate anyway, “rachamaid” is Scots Gaelic for “let us go”, ie. using it as “Let’s go”. And “ghradhaich” is Scots Gaelic for “dear”, used here as “dear one”.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How thunderous silence can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.  
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Reflecting on attempted suicide and suicidal thoughts.

The markedly cooler air under the canopy of the trees was refreshing after the fly through the open heat of the meadows. Though, he could not be sure that he was not just relieved to be back in his forest after the events of the last two days.

Bog took a deep breath, relishing the slightly damp, mossy smell mixed with the smell of tree bark and dry leaves. He closed his eyes for a moment taking in the sounds of the forest wildlife, the rustling of the branches and the way the leaves crinkled with the light movement of air as they passed. A smile graced his lips.

It was good to be home.

He opened his eyes to spy the mushrooms and his smile dropped. They were already spreading the news of his return across the border. He knew he would make it to the castle before the message. He was in no mood to waste even a second if he could help it.

 _Pray your stunt suffers no casualties, prince_ , he snarled into his mind, pushing his wings harder.

The smell of water graced his nose before they arrived, and he motioned his staff for those accompanying him to follow him lower. They ducked under a branch and dodged out of the way of a thick trunk to see the river flowing ever intrepid below the memorial watchpost that stood proud in place of the old castle. The sight was welcome and warm as he saw the burly guard at the top of the tower throw his fist up in greeting before turning to bang it against the large bell set up at the center of the post. Four beats in quick succession signaled the king's arrival to the populace just beyond.

Bog could not help a pleased growl of approval watching his goblins turn at attention, guard and civilian alike. Yet, while it comforted him to be back among his own, the sheer worry on their faces and anxiety hanging in the air soured the feeling. His customary scowl took its place as he crested the old fallen tree trunk that had lain next to the previous castle for generations and his current castle came into view.

Their new home had been hewn into a massive older tree that had already had tunnelwork and sections carved out at its base. It had been used for storage of winter foods and other important items such as excess scrolls, supplies and armaments. To simply expand on what was already there had been a unanimous decision on all fronts. Not only was it a living tree, so as to be far sturdier than the ancestral castle, but being such, they had the opportunity to expand further up, allowing for more supply stores, emergency quarters, watchman vantage points and so on. 

The recently christened fortress was the pride and joy of the Dark Forest. And remembering the resolute assistance that the Green Meadows people had provided helped ease his mind at the current situation.

As he had told Dagda: They were together in this.

He reached the third-floor flight deck just as a cyan glow illuminated the large double-doored gate. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, however the look on Sugar Plum's face shoved his normal annoyance with the eccentric creature out of his mind. 

"Bog! Finally, you're here. I need to talk to you about what's happened- _before_ you talk to anyone else about it," Plum insisted, solemn concern coloring her face.

As much as her strange seriousness threw up red flags in his mind, he found her urgency unusual. "Why?" he asked, trying not to sound suspicious. He landed heavily and started for the gate automatically, only to have Plum block his path.

"Something isn't right about this whole thing," she said, thrusting her tiny blue hands out at her sides.

"Believe me, Plum, I know that better than you," Bog shot out, making to step around her.

She once again impeded his progress. "I'm _serious_ , Bog, there's a smell about them-"

"Plum, the whole situation is rife with political stench, and believe me, you don't know the half of it-"

"I mean LITERALLY!" Plum shouted.

Bog snapped his mouth shut at her words. He stared unabashedly at her glowing, cyan eyes now pinning him down with deadly seriousness.

"Now that I have your _attention_ ," she ground out, "the ones that got away. They _literally_ have a smell just stuck to them that is all kinds of wrong."

Bog shook his head minutely as concern washed over him. "Well, what is it?"

"That's the problem." Plum clasped her hands together and wrang her fingers. "No one who's noticed it knows. It's not something any of us recognize." She looked away, lacing her fingers to hold at her front near her abdomen as if a sick feeling was overcoming her. Her eyes darted back to his with an expression that was so foreign to her face it was hard to identify. 

Bog found himself rendered speechless at this abrupt personality shift in the ordinarily spunky abnormality that was Sugar Plum. He felt his brows draw down as he shook his head again, his already mounting anxiety over the situation raising a few notches. He opened his mouth to question further when suddenly she was within his personal space, one small hand at his shoulder while the other cupped to her mouth brought uncomfortably close to his ear.

"I haven't mentioned it to anyone else because I don't want to cause a panic," she whispered, "but there's a tinge to the scent that only someone like me could smell."

Bog swallowed nervously, waiting with held breath for her next words.

"There's dark energy involved."

 _Oh no..._ Bog gripped his staff painfully tight at his side. "You don't mean..." He could not bring himself to finish the question.

"Yes," Plum answered gravely. 

"What _you_ would call black magick."

**~*~**

He had not bothered to put his armor on. He had not even bothered to put his crown on, which was arguably more important. He had merely grabbed his sword and stormed out of the office with Rex in tow.

For as many people as had seen him on his way to the arbitration chamber, not a single word was spoken. Eyes were immediately averted, heads ducked, and strides redirected to cut a clear path for the king as if fire preceded his steps.

As was to be expected when in the presence of the King of Fire’s full glare.

It had been more than a decade since the heat of his fury burned so brightly it could nearly be felt. And even if anyone had managed to give any thought to his shrinking armor, there was certainly no hiding it now that he was back in previous form. He had no doubt the word would spread as quickly as the fire he was titled for. Not even an hour ago, this may have given him cause for concern, his attempt at slowly allowing his shift in personal status to become public knowledge being utterly ruined. But now, he no longer felt any need to keep up pretenses.

Roland had been in his daughter’s room.

That traitorous bastard had snuck into the kingdom after having been marked for death should he do so, had done one better by stepping foot back into the castle when he should have known better, and had sealed his fate when he was found in the act of retreating from the room of the very person he should never have thought to look his detestable eyes upon ever again. His grip on his sword grew tighter and his jaw set sharply. 

Two guards already at the large double-doors of the arbitration chamber moved to open them quickly. He was there first, hardly a surprise, but he heard the commotion from the other side of the hall as he entered. He was not going to wait to catch eyes on the rat in the hallway. As public as his display already was, this was going to be handled properly behind closed doors. 

Dagda did not have to wait but a few seconds before the commotion reached the chamber entrance. He took a deep breath as he listened to the sounds of armored guards dragging an unwilling captive through the doors. His wings shivered with the effort of his restraint as he turned. Bright green eyes met his own emerald and the instant fear that flickered across those wide motes did little to assuage him. Even the shocked expression of his daughters and Sunny in his peripheral did nothing to calm his flame as he stared down the pitiful excuse in front of him. The doors closed and only when the lock was set in place did he lower his head and allow a sound to escape his lips. 

“Roland.” The name rolled off his tongue like acid, as if he were using the man’s own name as a weapon against him.

For a moment, Roland was silent and still, as if he had forgotten to breathe. He really did look pitiful as he knelt, forced to his knees. An old cloak that had seen better days adorned his shoulders, and his clothes were common workers clothes, as if he had left a job of manual labor to rush straight to his death. And death was certainly a promise, as the branded mark encircling his neck attested. 

The mark of a traitor.

The still reddened brand mark wrapped from the nape of his neck around to his throat, the two ends dipping downwards towards the hollow; pointing right to where the sword would have been thrust in olden times if the bearer of the mark were to dare defy its purpose. The Traitor’s Mark had not been used in centuries. But Roland had always wanted to stand out in a crowd.

“Your majesty,” Roland breathed, suddenly tearing his eyes away to lower his head, bending down to nearly touch his forehead to the ground. “I swear to you, I am here for a _very_ good reason! I know-“

“ _Very_ good reason, Roland?” Dagda cut him off, his voice resonating through the hall. “Would that _very_ good reason be a desire for death so strong you would do something so stupid?”

“Please!” Roland looked up but kept his body low. “I swear to you, I-“

“Your word means _nothing_ , Roland,” Dagda snarled, his wings flaring behind him. 

“My wings!”

The room went quiet.

Dagda tilted his head as if he had not heard correctly, gaze locked onto the blonde in front of him. “What?” he asked sharply.

“I swear on my wings,” Roland pleaded, desperation coloring his voice. “I swear on my wings, I am here to warn you- the Bog King is in danger!”

Dagda continued to stare, disbelief coloring the far side of his anger. For a fairy to swear on their wings meant a great deal under normal circumstances. As doing so meant the fairy doing the swearing was submitting such an important part of their body to the whims of the one they were swearing to.

Usually the result of deceit was that the swearer had their wings removed. 

However, as monumental as this statement was, it was not enough.

Dagda’s glare bared down on the disgraced former captain and he stepped forward, walking slowly, his feet landing heavy on the rock floor. “As much as I appreciate your dedication to your story,” he growled, “you realize your wings are already mine.” He stopped a pace in front of him, flicking his sword up to rest the point just under Roland’s chin. “Your life was forfeit the moment you stepped foot back into Green Meadows.”

Roland became more desperate, his expression growing manic. “Anything, then, whatever you want- I’ll do it! Just- please, you have to believe me, your majesty!” he practically begged.

His disbelief grew stronger as he glared down at the man kneeling in front of him. Since when had Roland ever begged like this? Since when had he ever been so adamant? And, for all intents and purposes, he seemed to have lost that over exuding confidence, that smug air of being able to handle whatever situation was thrown at him. He sat disheveled, dirty and desperate on his knees, body bent and expression pleading, eyes wide as if afraid of more than the blade at his throat. A certain dysphoria washed into the mix and suspicion sprouted into his mind.

_Who is this person?_

“You said anything,” Dagda stated, narrowing his eyes.

Roland held his gaze, his own eyes wide. “Y-yes… anything.” His tone of voice changed, and dread came into his expression. He had caught on.

 _Still have some capacity for thought, I see,_ Dagda thought. “Sit up straight,” he commanded.

Roland hesitated a moment, but did as told, straightening his back as his wings quivered behind him. Dagda shifted his sword to his left hand and stepped forward, shortening their distance further.

 _‘Sire, you can’t be serious?’_ Rex spouted abruptly through their link.

 _‘Oh, I am,’_ he answered. _‘He said anything. And this is the only way anyone would trust him now.’_

Rex filtered unbridled concern through the connection but gave no further protest. He dulled his side of the link once more, though his concern felt almost as if it were radiating from his physical form just behind his king. Dagda dulled his side of the link as well, knowing full well the risk to Rex at what he was about to do. He lifted his right hand, fingers poised in the proper position, mere inches from Roland’s head. The younger man flinched, but otherwise held his gaze. 

Now _that_ was more of a Roland response.

Roland had never been fond of the mindlink. It was one of the few things the overconfident young man had shied away from. He had stated it was uncomfortable feeling the presence of another’s mind connected to his own whether temporary or set. But he had said he would do anything. And certainly, he had known what that would mean.

Dagda waited no longer and placed his thumb on the center of Roland’s forehead, feeling a shiver under his touch as he connected his index and middle fingers to the younger’s temple. Energy flooded his arm, filling to his fingertips, the sensation crackling like static. Through the physical contact, he could feel the barrier of Roland’s mind.

He pushed.

Like breaching through ice of a rushing river he was in the younger man’s mind. The light and shadows of the physical room around them sharpened before fading as his vision was overwhelmed by the essence that was Roland. If he had been lesser experienced with his mental ability, he would have cringed.

Roland’s mind was a chaotic mess.

It was most definitely Roland he had at his feet, there was no doubt about that now. But his mindscape was tight and confined, as if he were desperately trying to hold himself together. However, all manner of thoughts and feelings were rushing about as if caught in a wind tunnel, flitting by with such speed that it was hard to discern each from the next. A kaleidoscope of dark colors and sharp sensations mixed with alternations of heat and cold assaulted his senses, seeming to melt out from the whirlwind of memories spinning rapidly around him as he paused his trek into the young man's mind. Practiced as he was, he could buffer his own emotional reactions, though he found it difficult to hide his shock and surprise at finding Roland's mind in such a state. Judged as traitor and banished for his crimes did not seem a harsh enough experience to throw his mind so off kilter.

A sudden urgency caught Dagda's attention and, no sooner had he acknowledged it, a memory was rushing forward out of the gale to engulf him. Roland was no more experienced than he had been before the most recent events leading to this predicament. So, instead of being presented with a path to walk securely into the stream of thought, it was as if he had been plunged into frigid water and dragged under towards the waterfall of its source. He grounded himself through the transition, reaching for physical sensation to prevent getting lost in the cacophony; the feel of his wings laying one on top of another, the hardness of the hilt in his left hand, the shivering skin under his fingertips. _‘Boy, get a hold of yourself!’ he_ entered sternly.

 _‘LISten-youhavetoHEARthis-this-‘_ Roland’s voice came to him in a rush, the words running together in various volumes and tones, as if pieced together from random sentences he had spoken at different times in his life.

Dagda exerted his presence, attempting to calm the storm Roland seemed unable to control. The memory continued its onslaught, however, clawing at him, demanding attention.

_‘Please listen…’_

Dagda remained quiet as, sure enough, other voices started making it into the fray.

_“You’re sure?”_

_“Oh yes. We are all ready and waiting. You just have to say the word.”_

A dark night materialized, starry sky marred with the grey haze of mist. Underfoot he felt hard, damp wood. The air was somewhat cool, though the object he was seated on was cold. The vision was sketchy and skipping around, garbled similarly to water’s surface when broken by several points of contact. But it was clear enough to see as it directed downward from the sky. Crates came into view, as did the sound of actual water flowing. He was on a dock. And he was not alone.

_“In a week’s time we’ll be meeting. We do not know enough. Anything could happen.”_

_“But you know who holds the upper hand regardless.”_

The body that was not his rose, walking softly to the edge of the crate closest, leaning against it. 

_“He is the sovereign of the Dark Forest. He’s gone through war, atrocities. Undoubtedly, that’s hardened him. He may not be swayed so easily-“_

_“And this concerns you why?”_

Eyes that were not his peeked around the crate to see two figures in dark cloaks. Through the distortion and the darkness present in the memory it was impossible to make out the faces under the hoods.

 _“Why wouldn’t it?”_ the taller figure spouted in aggravation.

 _“Don’t worry,”_ the other assured, a self-satisfied tone to the voice. _“He’ll see our side.”_

_“And if he doesn’t?”_

The voices were familiar in a vague sort of way. However, they spoke too quietly, and the distortion of the memory was too prevalent.

_“Then you know what we have to do.”_

The taller figure sighed. _“I would rather not.”_

 _“We do what we must,”_ the other said firmly. It reached out, gripping the shoulder of the taller. _“Failure is not an option.”_

The taller figure seemed to contemplate for a moment before its hooded head nodded. _“Yes. Nothing will stand in our way. Not even the Bog King.”_

Roland’s body in the memory backed away, the scenery seeming to blur. The disbelief that Roland had felt at that moment washed to the surface to mix with Dagda’s own that he found hard to keep buffered. 

_‘I told you… see- I’m not lying, I swear…’_ came Roland’s voice, mixed with that same disbelief from the memory along with relief. And something else.

Dagda narrowed his attention on the other sensation.

 _‘I- wait, that’s it, that’s the memory!’_ Roland’s pitch changed, a certain fearfulness making it through.

 _‘Don’t you dare,’_ Dagda growled, gripping the sensation Roland was now trying to bury. He could feel its connection spreading from the memory, deep-rooted and leading further into Roland’s mind. 

It was a desperate and fearful conviction, so intense it felt like a need.

 _‘Please,’_ Roland whispered, shame flooding the connection in the wake of his plea.

Along with very dark emotions that he was trying and failing to keep contained.

‘No,’ Dagda responded, though he softened his presence. He knew what these emotions were. What they could lead to. _‘Roland. Do not hide from me. Show me. Why are you so intent on saving the Bog King’s life?’_

He was not answered with words, instead being met with a sickening myriad of emotions so jumbled he could barely make them out individually. At the same time, the memory he was just shown rematerialized, though it came in skips and flashes. He relived the memory in reverse, the words spoken by the figures distorted as Roland’s form walked backwards from his position at the crate, reseating on the cold bench. A sharp sensation met his wrist and suddenly those eyes that were not his were downcast, looking at a blade pressed into the skin. The darkness and cold only despair could bring swirled around him, focused on that sharpened point and the pain it inflicted. Both hands shook and the vision of the memory was blurry, bits and pieces of it falling away. 

Tears.

Roland had been crying as he had sat on that dock, less than an inch away from ending his life.

As much as he wanted to remain apathetic to this revelation… he could not. Dagda pushed forward without words, gripping the memory. He could feel the path further in, how it connected to other memories like branches of a tree. He sent assurance outward, paternal instinct getting the better of him. 

That was all it took for what was left of Roland’s self-control to fail him.

All at once, images, sounds, and emotions flooded Dagda’s consciousness, the memory’s path flooded with a tsunami of sensations: The scenery of the Misty Rivers, the landscape and village roads, the royal city’s streets and buildings, the place Roland had apparently gone to in the wake of his banishment; the dock where he had been working; a dingy room he had managed to pay for in the workers’ barracks; glimpses of himself in the tiny wall mirror, expression dull and without spark, those formerly glowing green eyes dark and unfeeling – working backwards through memory and Roland was on the streets, going into one building after another, either being turned down for work or blatantly kicked out. News had spread of who he was and what he had done. Not many in Misty Rivers were keen on having a convicted traitor to his kingdom among them. There were flashes of nights in the streets, where he had slept in an ally, several more flashes where he stared at food hungrily from across the street – one where he had managed to find and gather enough coin to buy a simple roll of bread. 

Something was wrong with what he was seeing. Dagda made no effort to hide his confusion amidst the chaos. Roland’s family was nobility. More than that, he was the apple of his parent’s eyes. Even with his conviction and punishment, would they have really left him so destitute?

_“You were never our son!”_

The cacophony rose higher as that sentence resonated, echoing through the gale and repeating with various levels of harshness and volume until the words made their way back to his senses as if roared from the jaws of some gruesome beast, twisted and bloody and wounding like teeth tearing into flesh. Abruptly, the memory the words rang out from dominated everything.

_“Why are you here?”_

_“What?”_ Roland questioned.

He was standing within the gates of his family’s manor, on the front walk of their courtyard, sight set on the man standing in the doorway in front of him.

 _“How dare you show up here!”_ Marius, his father, snarled, glaring down at him from atop the steps. _“Get out of my sight,”_ he ordered, hazel eyes shooting daggers, his normally perfectly coifed sandy-brown hair disheveled in his anger. 

_“Wha- Dad, I-“_

_“Don’t you call me that, you have no right,”_ Marius fumed. At this point, Alina, his mother, had come to stand beside him. Her long, pale blonde hair was in a tight bun, unusual for her, and her sky-blue eyes glacial as she stared at him in distain.

 _“What?”_ Roland said in astonishment, disbelief and confusion mixing with the already painful emotions that were still as raw as the mark on his neck. _“What do you mean I have no- Dad, look, I-“_

_“Shut UP! You pathetic waste of space!”_

Shock forced his mouth closed and anxiety caused his insides to burn painfully.

 _“You have some nerve showing your face here,”_ his mother suddenly spat. _“What made you think you could come back?”_

 _“I don’t care what he thinks,”_ Marius said. _“Get out of here,”_ he all but growled. 

Roland shook his head. _“But… I- I know I-“_

 _“You know nothing! Now go! Before we have you removed by force!”_ his father shouted. 

Panic rose to the forefront and Roland took a step forward. _“Wha- Please, I know this isn’t my brightest moment, but you can’t just-“_

 _“YOU don’t dictate what I can and cannot do!”_ Marius roared. _“I took you into this house and I’ll throw you out all the same!”_

He froze. What did he mean by that?

_“I can’t- would you at least listen? I know I messed up but I can fix it, I know I can-“_

_“You think you can fix this!?”_ Alina cut in. She scoffed and looked away in disbelief. _“You have disgraced our name in the worst possible way, and you think that’s fixable?”_

 _“Y-yes, yes, I can!”_ he insisted. _“I-I always do, right? When I mess up, I always fix it, you know that-“_

 _“You’ve never had a choice but to clean up your messes, boy,”_ Marius spat. _“But this isn’t one of your idiot mistakes. This damage cannot be undone by some ungrateful prat who can’t think past his nose!”_

 _“I… I can…”_ Roland shook his head, old anxiety he had not dealt with since childhood and his younger years reaching up and taking him by the throat. _“J-just give me time, I can do this! I can-“_

 _“Time?”_ Alina cut him off again, pinning him down with her cold gaze. _“We’ve given you nothing but time- time and gracious opportunity that others DREAM of, and this is what you’ve done with it.”_ She looked away again, crossing her arms. _“Please. Your excuses are useless, just like you.”_

 _“Leave. Now,”_ Marius ordered, pointing to the gate. _“Do not make me repeat myself again.”_

This did not make any sense. Why were they acting like this? Yes, it was bad, yes, he had messed up on a grand scale, but now they were treating him far worse than with any of his other mishaps. Sure, it was something to be angry about, but this? This seemed so extreme. And what exactly did his mother mean by them giving him time and “gracious opportunity?” Yes, they had pushed him to succeed, ever since he was little, that was all he could remember; he had to be the best of the best in everything he did, anything less was simply unacceptable, it always had been. But those specific words seemed out of place. _“You- why are you doing this? Are you really just throwing me out into the wilderness?”_ he asked desperately, clawing at the air as if understanding could be grasped out of the sky. _“You really can’t give me a chance to at least TRY to- to do something about it? I know this is bad, I know that, I’m not that stupid, I can see that much, but I’ve always found a way to fix it, always!”_ He laughed, though it sounded desperate and scared as he looked at the unmoving eyes of the only people he had to rely on looking at him with such hate and cold. _“Y-you know me, I’m your son! I can do it, I can do any-“_

_“You were never our son!”_

Silence crashed into the courtyard.

Roland stared blankly, all sensation halted in and out of his body as he tried to comprehend what his father had just shouted so clearly. _“What?”_ he whispered.

 _“Are you deaf as well as incompetent?”_ Marius mocked. _“I said, you were NEVER our son!”_ His tone, his expression, his stance, everything about the man in front of him screamed truth in these words and yet somehow it felt so unreal. 

His eyes darted to his mother and she tilted her head up, looking down her nose at him.

 _“We have given you so much opportunity and so many second chances to do well for the Larkspur name.”_ Alina sneered. _“Obviously, we’ve waisted our time.”_

It felt like all the air was sucked out of his body. He could not breathe. His limbs felt like they were going numb. He could not feel even the ground under his feet. _“Nn… No. I…”_ he could not even make his mouth work to protest. _No. This can’t be real…_

 _“Yes, boy,”_ Marius stood to his full height, looking down his nose as well. _“We adopted you. We hoped you could bring us what life did not provide naturally. Clearly, a mistake on our part.”_ He looked away and smoothed his hair back into place. _“It’ll take decades for this shame to blow over, if we can even manage to salvage anything after this horrendous situation you’ve made.”_

Words and the ability to think utterly failed him and he simply stood there, staring. The people in front of him, his parents, suddenly seemed so foreign. In not simply the words they had just used, but their entire demeanor- the way they looked at him, the way they stood, the very air around them was so different from what he had grown up with. They meant those words they had spoken.

He had failed them one too many times, and so, he was nothing to them now.

_I am nothing._

_I am nothing._

_I am nothing._

The words repeated like a mantra, permeating the background with a constant droll like thunder in a storm as images and sounds started flashing into and out of existence: He was walking along the road north, not really with any real goal in mind, as if anything mattered anymore; given an old cloak and a travel pack by an older fairy who lived in a one room cottage on the border- he would have been insulted at the pitying look on his face if it had been but a day earlier; One time when he was ten, being beaten by Marius with a wooden rod for failing his swordsmanship test; crossing the border into Misty Rivers, the border officers at the crossing post eyeing him curiously, but staying suspiciously quiet; At fifteen he stood in front of Alina, trying not to hold his face where she had slapped him repeatedly for kissing a common girl on the cheek as she lectured him about keeping their name clean; Walking through the outlying village, getting looks and stares from people, some curious, others guarded, and wondering if it was even worth it to go anywhere or do anything at this point; At eighteen, Marius’ fingers had felt like claws, digging into the hair at the nape of his neck as he had leaned in far closer than necessary to whisper words of disapproval that sounded more like threats, disappointed at him having failed the first trial to get into the border guard; Wandering aimlessly through the streets of the Misty Rivers’ royal city, run off from areas periodically for standing in one place too long, or staring, or simply _being_ there, because of course they would not want a dirty, drifting nobody convicted traitor hovering around; At twenty-four, his heart clenched tightly as Alina mentioned how beautiful Princess Marianne was, going on about how she was of age, and how amazing it would be if she noticed the equally beautiful boy of the Larkspur family; Marius asking why he had not been personally introduced to the princess yet; Alina scolding him for letting his hair grow too long, telling him the princess would love the way his hair flicked up at the ends if he kept it shorter; Marius swatting his face with his knuckles in a not-quite-punch because he had allowed stubble to grow, insisting he keep himself clean shaven to look presentable in front of the princess; Alina telling him to keep his armor polished, as it would do no good to have the Larkspur son looking ruddy and dirty, especially if the princess happened by; Marius asking, almost angrily, why he had yet to speak more with the princess aside from cordial chit-chat - _“How are you ever going to catch the princess’ attraction if you never speak to her? You could be king someday if you put in the effort. Imagine that, a Larkspur boy being king…”_

_Heavens, I never wanted to marry Marianne._

He sat in his sordid room in Misty Rivers, pale light barely making it through the grimy window from the overcast sky outside. He stared at his open hands, calloused and dirty from the manual labor he had managed to get into at the docks. He was light-headed and nauseous, reeling as reality continued crashing into him without reprieve. 

_I never wanted to marry Marianne, to be king. I never wanted to be part of the guard, I never wanted to be a swordsman, I never wanted to be some grand showman for the family name, I never wanted- never wanted-never wanted-neverwantedneverwantedneverwanted-_

_All I ever did, I did for them._

_Now that I don’t have them telling me what to do for them, what am I supposed to do? Who am I?_

_I am nothing._

The night was somewhat cool and wet, normal for a summer night in Misty Rivers. The dock was quiet save for the river flowing underneath, the moored boats bumping lazily against the wood. Even his crying did not disturb the peace, his tears falling silently as he stared at the blade against his wrist, pushed in just painfully enough to draw blood, but not enough to release his life from his veins. _I am nothing._ The thought spun around in his head like a whirlwind, making his ears ring and his eyes burn _. So why does this hurt so much? Just do it… no one will care, no one will notice when nothing becomes more nothing… it doesn’t matter…_ He stared at his wrist, barely able to see it through his tears, frozen, feeling more cowardly than he ever had before. It was so simple, and the blade was sharp enough. _I am nothing._

_“You’re sure?”_

_“Oh yes. We are all ready and waiting. You just have to say the word.”_

His mental functions slammed to a halt. He was no longer alone on the dock. But when had anyone else shown up? He had been so engrossed in his own head, though. No wonder he had not noticed.

_“In a week’s time we’ll be meeting. We do not know enough. Anything could happen.”_

_“But you know who holds the upper hand regardless.”_

Curiosity got the better of him and he rose to sneak closer, listening to the conversation. 

_“He is the sovereign of the Dark Forest. He’s gone through war, atrocities. Undoubtedly, that’s hardened him. He may not be swayed so easily-“_

_“And this concerns you why?”_

They were talking about the Bog King? Why? What were they trying to sway him on? He peeked around the corner carefully, seeing two figures in dark cloaks with their hoods up. It was next to impossible to see their faces.

 _“Why wouldn’t it?”_ the taller figure spouted in aggravation.

 _“Don’t worry,”_ the other assured, a self-satisfied tone to the voice. _“He’ll see our side.”_

_“And if he doesn’t?”_

This conversation seemed… wrong, somehow. This was not how one spoke about a sovereign of another kingdom. And who were these people to be speaking about kings anyway? 

More than that, why did he care about how they spoke about Bog?

_“Then you know what we have to do.”_

His insides froze at those words.

The taller figure sighed. _“I would rather not.”_

 _“We do what we must,”_ the other said firmly. It reached out, gripping the shoulder of the taller. _“Failure is not an option.”_

_They can’t be… saying what I think… are they?_

The taller figure seemed to contemplate for a moment before its hooded head nodded. _“Yes. Nothing will stand in our way. Not even the Bog King.”_

Disbelief dominated his emotions as he backed away. _They’re… what are they going to do? Who- who are these people?_

_“… a week’s time we’ll be meeting…”_

_That’s right._ He had heard something about an important meeting between Misty Rivers and Green Meadows. So, that would mean these men were… council members? He had not been in Misty Rivers long, but he already did not like the Council any more than he had before. He had only encountered them once during his time in the guard, and their utter arrogance had been palpable. And their reputation was hardly the best in their own kingdom, at least with the people he was around daily.

 _But wait…_ _what are they going to do to Bog?_

Fear started making its way into his chest, his stomach turning at the implications of this conversation. Then, all at once, confusion slammed into him.

_Why do I care?_

Roland stood there, staring at the water of the river flowing gently passed the dock. His mind was suddenly devoid of thought, his emotions teetering around in his chest. His eyes drifted downward and he saw the knife still in his hand, his opposing arm with the sleeve still raised, the cut left in his skin, the small amount of blood inching down his wrist. 

_Because I am nothing. But he’s not._

Bog. The man who had bested him, acted with honour despite his rash actions, had saved Marianne and Dawn, had held back and respected Dagda’s authority in prosecuting him… him. A nobody. A nothing. 

_He’s a halfblood._

Roland’s eyes went wide. _That’s why they’re plotting like this! They don’t want to ally with halfblood!_

He was not totally blind. He had seen the way certain subjects of the Misty Rivers kingdom were treated. Some just as badly or even worse than himself, certain members of the populace spurred on by what was clearly hatred and disgust from the Council. His gut twisted as he thought about his own actions and words towards the goblins of the Dark Forest, towards Bog. Being among people similar, seeing what they went through on a daily basis was eye-opening. Had he really had that mentality? Had he really been so callous, so rude, so disrespectful?

Had he really _wanted_ to behave that way?

He stared at the planks of the dock, everything seeming to go still, even the waters of the river below seeming to go quiet.

_All I ever did, I did for them._

But.

He did not have to do anything for them anymore. 

What had he done for them that had amounted to anything anyway? Here he was, in a foreign kingdom, unable to step foot back into his own because of his actions, a lifetime of caving to the will of people who only used him for their name and then thew him away the moment he was of no use to them any longer.

_I can do this._

A spark ignited in his chest as he continued to stare at the dock under his feet. _I can do this… I can do something… I can do something worth doing. If I do nothing meaningful in my life ever, I can at least do this. Yes, I can tell them, I can warn them._ Realization came to his mind as he considered he would have to go back into Green Meadows to do this. He was slated for death if he did so. He raised a hand to run his fingers over the mark around his neck. Then his eyes drifted to the blade in his other hand. _So, what. I’m nothing anyway._

Roland turned, sneaking back to the crate to pear around the edge. Sure enough, the cloaked figures were gone. And evidently had not noticed him. 

_Yes. Yes! I can do this!_ He sheathed his knife and rolled his sleeve down, pulling his own hood up as he backtracked to go the way he came to leave the dock. _I can warn them, I can warn Bog. I can do something worth doing for once in my life. Even if I die because of it._ He snuck passed the dock gate, ducking around standing pallets and crates to avoid being seen by the nightshift dockmaster, despite the fact he was probably still asleep as he usually was anyway. _Even if I die doing it, I’ll do it. This one thing… this one thing worth doing. Because I’m nothing anyway, but he’s not. He’s a king, a real king. He takes care of his people, his kingdom, even others he barely knows,_ he rambled, thoughts drifting to Marianne and Dawn, how he had protected them, saved them, selflessly putting himself in harm’s way for them.

 _Yes… if I never do anything else with my useless life… I’ll do this,_ he thought, eyes stinging as he hurried down the streets to the workers’ barracks.

He _had_ to do this. He just had to. 

Because it was all he _could_ do.

Dagda took a deep breath. He focused on the feel of the air rushing through his nostrils, the feel of his chest moving. He focused on the feel of his wingscales brushing against each other as his wings rustled lightly with the motion of his shoulders raising just so. He focused on the feel of the polished rock under his boots, the cool metal of his sword hilt in his tight grip. And he felt the shuttering under his fingertips. 

He started closing himself off, retreating into himself, but moved slowly, so as not to cause injury with the abrupt movement through memories that were not his. He could feel the natural inclination within Roland’s mind to hold on to his presence, but he could also feel the conscious effort to let go. And he could feel the exhaustion. Roland had revealed far more than he had intended. 

Dagda opened and closed his eyes slowly, the physical world around him coming back into focus. He could feel the moisture along his cheeks, trailing into his beard. He looked down, sight catching bright green eyes, watery and bloodshot. Roland’s face was also wet, his tears still falling as he tried to hold his gaze. Dagda knew his own tears had been a result of Roland’s emotions filling him through the link. It was not uncommon. But it spoke to their sheer intensity, that they would have such a profound effect on him in particular. 

Then again, he knew what it was like to feel so deeply it hurt.

He said nothing in mind or physically as the connection reached its weakest point. He did, however, send through one last sensation: Reassurance. 

Roland trembled almost violently when he finally severed the link and removed his hand, the younger man falling forward across his own knees. Dagda took another deep breath, quicker this time and closed his eyes as he raised his hand to wipe his face.

“Dagda?” Rex rushed forward, gripping his shoulder tightly. 

He could hear the sheer worry and concern in his captain’s voice and feel the insistent prodding at their own set link in his mind. He opened up his side and sent assurance through. Rex was graciously careful with his own response, making sure not to send too much through considering the experience that everyone could see had been a rocky one.

Marianne was not so lucky as to feel that same assurance. “Dad?” she questioned, walking forward to put her hand on his opposing shoulder. 

Dagda opened his eyes, looking down at Roland, still leaned over himself, trying to cry silently in the room that was far too acoustically tuned to allow for it. He clenched his jaw as he narrowed his eyes. 

“What are your orders?” Rex asked.

Dagda remained silent, simply watching. Finally, he moved, switching his sword to his right hand. He could feel the collective holding of breath in the room until he quickly sheathed it. “Secure the Misty Rivers’ guest rooms,” he ordered. “No one, and I repeat, _no one_ leaves those rooms,” he ground out, looking to Rex pointedly before turning his sight to the captain of the castle guard. The captain nodded and motioned to his soldiers with him and they started for the door. Dagda turned, stepping away and motioning for both Marianne and Rex to step with him. They did, both looking at him with rapt attention. 

“Sire?” Rex was the one to turn to glare at the royal guard member that had spoken. The guard continued, unphased. “What about the intruder?”

Dagda was quiet a moment as he tilted his head. “Leave him be. But keep your eyes on him.”

Rex and Marianne’s questioning looks were almost comical as they followed him further into the room. He got to the foot of the dias that was set up along the back wall, tall and imposing with thirteen podiums set up reserved for their respective persons for when the Arbiters Council was called. There was no need of them yet. But he knew that time would be soon enough. 

“Dad, what’s going on?” Marianne asked, cutting into his thoughts. 

“Yeah, after that display, you shouldn’t be going silent and brooding,” Rex commented.

He sighed, resting his hands to his hips as he shuffled his wings. “What’s _going on_ is you need to get to Bog,” he said, catching Marianne’s amber motes with his emerald. “Now.”

**~*~**

The night came alive.

That was the best they could get from the ones who got away.

Bog pinched the bridge of his nose as he sat on his throne made of both wood and bone, carved and pieced together into a rough semblance of an elder tree. He heaved a growling sigh as he listened to the elders in front of him voicing various levels of concern and uncertainty, their voices both hushed and pitched alike echoing through the expanse of the new throne room. Being about a size-and-a-half larger than the previous one, with taller ceilings and three skylights, it carried noise far easier. That seemed both good and bad depending on who was making the noise. The Ode-Rot clan chieftain, while still trying to retain patience, was none-too-happy with the elders' hesitance, and he had made that known plenty of times already. Now he was simply growling out his frustration in Bog's general direction, the sound mixing with the rest if the cacophony in the air. Bog could hardly blame him. He was not enthused with their hesitation either.

But he was not yet ready to spring Plum's revelation to him on the crowd of people in the room.

Even so, the elders were wise and experienced. And this was simply not in their reservoir of knowledge. Never had there been some strange occurrence where mysterious beings of the night that could not even be looked upon had come and taken whole villages. They were wary. And not so ready to give blessing for the king to personally run off to the scene.

The problem is they were not very ready to allow _anyone_ to do so. They had insisted no one go near the area until they could find some sort of working explanation, any explanation, that could be feasible. 

And, of course, they could not.

Bog ran his hand down his face to hold his chin as his eyes darted to Plum's. She met his gaze as if sensing his movement. Her brows twitched slightly upward in question. He huffed, looking back to the elders. He appreciated Plum's sudden decision to keep her mouth shut, but that did not really help him in deciding if he should do the same. If she were wrong, he would be inciting panic for no reason.

But if she were right...

"Oh, enough of this nonsense!" Bog and everyone else in the throne room cringed down at the shrill voice that angrily rang out into the space. Griselda made her way in from the main entrance. "I've done left to get a snack and come back to see you lot _still_ bickering. You clearly have no idea what you're on about so shut your traps and let the king go figure it out for you!" the queen mother shouted, waving her arms at them in aggravation.

"Griselda!" Elder Aguun, a large greenish-grey troll goblin with missing upper and lower fangs on his left side glared, though somehow retained a respectful air. "Ye realize 'ow out 'a the norm this is? S'not e'ry dey someth'n this strange 'appens," he retorted, gesturing his own arms back at her.

"Oh, cool it, fangless!" Griselda shot, "We all know this is some next level weirdness, but it’s nothing my boy can't handle," she said, glaring up at the man as she planted her hands on her hips.

Aguun growled, the throaty noise resonating into the room. "Woman, Ah'am NAW doubt’n the king's abili’y, Ah'am doubt’n the situation-"

"Which we know next to nothing about anyway!" Griselda hollered, throwing her arms in the air. "We need eyes over there, now-"

"An’ risk more lives to this, this- wha’ever it is!?"

"We at least need someone to scout the area, she's right-"

"Well _someone_ doesn't want to use only dragonfly mounts!"

"It’s the middle of the swamp! We can only see so much from the air-"

"An’ the ‘ole place'll be a trap, ye mark me words-"

"This happened last _night_ -"

"And? Tha's exactly the-"

"ENOUGH!" Bog roared into the din, standing from his throne to slam the foot of his staff into the floor. The room went suitably quiet at his reproach and all eyes landed on him. He let out a low growl and stood straight. "I'm taking two scouting parties. One by air, the other by ground."

"Majesty-"

"That's not-"

"But what if-"

"This is NOT up for debate!" he yelled. "We're going, and we're going to find out what happened to our people." He turned his glare to the chief of the castle guard, Guudahl, an undine of his age. "Have the castle on high alert," he ordered. "And call for seven ground patrols and seven air patrols." Guudahl nodded with that sly undine grin and turned to bark out the orders.

"Finally," Griselda huffed.

"Woman, ye'd be'er call on tha' luck a'yers," Aguun grumbled.

Griselda smirked. "Whatever for? The luckiest man alive is the one leading the charge," she retorted, winking at her son.

Bog rolled his eyes as several people in the room snickered in spite of the situation.

"How's our lovely moon flower handling you, anyway, Son?"

"Mother!"

After twenty minutes of preparation, and Bog pointedly ignoring his mother’s chiding, they were on their way. It was not a short journey by any stretch of the words, but they were quick and knew their forest well. He and the air patrols stayed within viewing distance of the ground patrols, but proceeded ahead of them, darting through the trees and shrubs, making sure the path was clear and keeping their eyes open for anything unusual. So far, they had not seen much worth noting. The forest seemed calm, quiet even.

Too quiet.

As the marshes came into view, that earie quiet started to settle in and a general unease came over the two groups. Bog scanned the area, all that he could see, as they got closer and closer to the first village. Between the wet, mossy overgrowth, the surplus of non-living mushrooms and fungi, the vague and generic shapes seeming to grow out of muck and between the trees that he knew were the homes and hovels of the village, the briefest glimpse of the open regions of marshland stretching north… there was nothing to see. Aside from the fact that there were none of his people saturating the area. _In fact…_ Bog scanned again, looking back over everything he had just examined as his grip tightened reflexively on his staff. _Where is… where are the animals?_

It became blaringly obvious that while none of his goblins were around, there were no signs of wildlife either. Not even a fly; no spiders, no bees, no crawling things, no sounds of birds high in the canopy, no subtle sounds of rodents skittering about. There was nothing. They had not seen any animals or insects for several minutes now that he thought about it. Not since they had really started to get close to the marsh borders.

Bog growled in frustration as he lifted his fist, pausing at a low hanging branch. 

“Sire?” one of his guard questioned as they all halted their mounts with him.

He remained silent, listening. Still nothing to hear. Only the sounds of his air patrols’ dragonfly mount wings and the ground patrols starting to peter to a stop not far behind them. _Since when do we make so much noise traveling in our own forest?_ he thought randomly, suddenly very aware of how loud they all seemed to be. Then, his eyes went wide, realization striking him like lightning.

_WE are the only source of noise right now. If anyone is lying in wait, they’ll catch us in a heartbeat._

He motioned abruptly to land on the branch, the noise of the dragonfly mount’s wings along with his own, suddenly thunderous to his ears. His patrol followed him, remaining quiet as he signaled for silence. One of his men turned and gave signal to the ground team for good measure. When the goblin turned and nodded in affirmation he nodded back, then turned his attention back to the village. Now with the overbearing noise of his own patrols silenced, they could all hear just how deafeningly quiet it really was.

It was as if noise had ceased to exist.

Dread started to fill him as he continued looking, trying to see anything, glimpse any hint as to what was going on, straining his ears to hear anything at all. _What is going on?_ he questioned himself.

He waited, trying to remain as silent as the air around them, his patrols attempting to do the same. That task felt difficult to achieve, as even their breathing seemed loud in the utter quiet. He motioned to the team to keep look out all around, not that they were not already, their nervous eyes having as much need of something to do as his own. He tried not to cringe at the sound of his scales rubbing against each other as he made the signal. Not since childhood and other, darker moments in his past had he been made so aware of his own natural noises. He shook his head in a twitching motion as he pressed his lips together in a thin line, looking out to the dwellings once more. 

He froze. 

One of the homes situated near the center of the village. It looked normal, constructed the same as any of the others. But it was different somehow. Something seemed off about one of the mud walls that faced them, though at a bit of an angle. It seemed as if it was… lit differently? As if it had another light source like a torch or a glowworm lantern near it, but the light was not illuminating correctly. The only thing being, there was no other light source. Not that he could see. In fact, all the expected lighting sources of a thriving village were conspicuously absent. 

_What IS that?_

As if his thought had been a catalyst, that strange section of wall moved.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's thicker? Blood, mud, water or mental fortitude?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.  
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.

The hot summer air blowing through her hair was stifling. The heat of the sun beating down on her wings which she was forcing to near full speed was also not doing her any favors. However, she was not about to slow down.

Marianne glanced behind her, making sure the others were keeping up. Six of the border guards were following, two on either side of her in a “V” pattern and two behind her with Roland in between them, bringing up the tail end of their arrowhead formation. 

Her gut twisted again, seeing that golden hair glint in the light, those orange wings keeping stride so easily, reminding her of past experiences that were originally good memories but then tainted by his actions. It made her want to punch that pretty face of his square in the nose, even having already had the immense satisfaction of bruising his right cheekbone today. But then, when she looked at that statuesque face of his, she saw a completely different person. He _looked_ like Roland. According to her father, he was _definitely_ Roland. But somehow this was not Roland. That confident glint in his eye, that smug smile, that self-glorifying attitude. All that was gone. The man in front of her in the arbitration chamber, flying behind her now, looked meek, scared even, submissive…

As much as she wanted to have him locked away in a dungeon to rot for the rest of his life, she could not deny the change in him. Nor could she deny her father’s certainty.

Especially not after what she had seen.

She was not fond of mind-links. She was not inept, she knew what to do, how to do it. She had gone through the training. But she did not like them. And seeing her father about to link with the one man she hated most in this world was excruciating. But then watching on the outside, trying to imagine what was going on inside… At first, she had thought perhaps her father might be doing the unthinkable and misusing his authority, as Roland showed signs of going through a great deal of pain. However, after a few extremely tense minutes of just watching, her father’s eyes started melting tears, despite his stonewalled face. She had nearly panicked until she looked and saw Roland grimacing, eyes nearly shut as he practically sobbed in silence. She had looked to Rex then, hoping for some explanation. He had met her gaze but looked back without comment, evidently not disturbed by what was happening though he was clearly concerned for what it meant. 

It apparently meant a great deal. 

Her father would not tell them everything that had happened but did confirm that Roland had in fact been a direct witness to a plot against Bog. Though, the exact details of what was planned were not mentioned between the conspirators, it was enough of a threat to treat the situation as if Bog’s life depended on it. So, she was going with a border guard team to try to meet up with Bog at the marshes, warn him of the situation and help fight if need be. 

But then he had said Roland would go as well.

Oh, how she had been so afraid that history was repeating herself. She had been ready to throw fists if she had to, ready to knock the bastard out if that was what it took to change her father’s mind. But then, her father had taken her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye with a hardness she had not seen in his expression since she was a child. 

“He is under _your_ command, Marianne. He does what you say, without question. If you tell him to jump, he asks how high. Do you understand?”

She had stared unabashedly before nodding in response. 

“You watch him. And you watch him good,” her father had said then. “If he does _anything_ out of line, his punishment is in _your_ hands. But no matter what you do, you make sure to bring him back here to me.” He looked at her with utter seriousness. “Can you do this?”

“Why?” The question had slipped out without her meaning it to, but she had not been about to take it back. “Why are you trusting him again?” 

“I don’t,” he answered sharply. “He’s going to prove himself.” His tone had been grave, leaving nothing to the imagination. However, he still spoke the words aloud. “If he fails to do so, there will be no third chance. I’ll make sure of it.”

She had nodded then and somehow had managed to keep her face straight despite how she had been reeling inside. She was well aware of her father’s reputation, well aware of the stories, what he had supposedly done and gone through in his life so far. Yet somehow, she had never connected with the reality of the fact that he had _killed_ people with his own hands. Those very hands that had held her shoulders securely had sunk blades into flesh, strung whips to snap necks and, if _every_ story were true, had even stopped enemies last breaths with no weapon at all. Seeing the look in his eyes as he had spoken, hearing the unwavering lethality in his voice, the realization had come upon her like a tidal wave.

He would not hesitate to end Roland personally. 

For all her training and bravado, her fierce determination that had spurred on her will to fight no matter the situation, despite what blood she had drawn and wounds she had inflicted… she had never yet taken a life with her own actions. She was not naïve, or at least, she liked to think she was not. She knew what it meant, to fight a real fight with real weapons against real opponents. Or so she thought she did. Having run headlong into the Dark Forest as she had only three months ago, she had burned with such a raging fury to get her sister back that she had not considered the ramifications of what it meant to charge into a foreign kingdom with a blade in hand and attack their sovereign. But she had held her own against Bog, had matched blow for blow, had convinced herself _ready_ to kill him, if need be. 

And yet, that had _not_ been needed.

Bog had treated the situation far more honorably than she had thought he would at the time. He had fought her one on one, had not really used _all_ the assets he had at his disposal. He had given her the benefit of the doubt, had shown more trust to her than she would have to him had the situations been reversed. 

As ready as she had thought she had been to take a life, she had not done so. As much as she had braced herself for the act, she had not needed to live it. And now, there was a real chance she would see it. When it was so distanced from her as it had been, such as Bog when she had not known him, Roland _if_ he ever crossed back into the kingdom, or the thought of another kingdom, even their allied kingdom, possibly on the brink of war- a war that _would_ take lives… it was easier to stomach. Now, though, having looked her father in the eye as he spoke those words, having seen that glint she had only heard stories of, she was not sure how easy the act would come to her, even if necessary.

Marianne bit her lip as she looked ahead, keeping an eye on the tree line, watching for threat and for the part where they would make their entry. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she had no choice but to acknowledge the fact that she had never _really_ prepared herself for this. As tough as she was, as stubborn as she was, as angry as she had ever been, as much training as she had put herself through, this had never been a reality she had needed to face.

She thought back on what she had overheard of her father’s words when he had pulled Roland to his feet and damnear dragged him away from everyone. She had strained her ears to catch the words.

“You may have done what you did for them, but you are a gown man,” her father had said. “You made your own decisions then. And you are making your own decisions now.” 

Even though it was not meant for her, the tone of his voice had set her nerves roiling against her insides.

“Remember. If you betray my trust again… it’s not just your wings that are mine.”

She had ventured a look then and the apprehension on Roland’s face, the way he had shook under her father’s hands…

 _I have to do this._ Marianne clenched her free fist at her side and gripped her sword hilt tighter. _I have to be ready for this,_ she said to herself. _This was always something I’d have to see, this was always something I’d have to do. I’m going to be queen someday, there is no getting away from this._ She felt her face mar as she set her jaw. _Besides,_ she thought, _this isn’t some distant concept anymore. Our friends could be in danger._ A spark of anger flared under the surface of her anxiety. _Bog IS in danger._

She fought the sudden urge to draw her sword, her arms trembling with the sudden surge of _something_ in her veins, something familiar yet foreign at the same time. It made her think of that night three months ago, when she had flown off to save Dawn. But it was stronger this time, more intense. 

Whatever it was, she decided to welcome it.

_I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, Bog. I promise._

**~*~**

He still could not believe what he was seeing with his own eyes. The woman stared up at him, still kneeling on the ground, her gaze matching his. Her own light brown eyes ringed in green were wide yet guarded.

Bog was looking at another halfblood.

She was a goblin-fae halfblood, just like himself. But more than that, she was a Dark Forest native. She had yet to speak a word, but he could see it clear as day. 

She was a Silver-Scale.

The woman was covered in scales and plates, exactly as he was. She had shoulder spurs, albeit not as many and much smaller and rounder than his. She even had leafy scales extending up from her brow, though they trailed off near the crown of her head, allowing for silky, fairy-like hair that had grown long enough to reach the middle of her back. The primary difference between them, however, was the color and texture of her scales. Where his were a dull grey and rough in appearance, hers were a light silver color and smoother, though they still had ridges as his did. Her hair also was a shiny silver, brilliantly reflecting any light that touched it. Her wings were barely any different than his, though she sported less holes in her membranes, and they reflected light with the same ardor that her hair did, the glint bouncing off at every turn. She was the living embodiment of the Silver-Scale clan.

One of the halfblood clans he had thought completely wiped out in the war.

Only minutes ago, when the wall of the hut had moved, he had made the split-second decision not to wait. He had ordered the strike and he and his flyers had jumped into action. On the way to the wall, he had seen the impossible: a form flicker in and out of existence. Tall and lanky, those silver scales seeming to glow faintly, wide eyes gaping at him in terror… hanging upside down from the window of the hut. By the time they had landed, she was invisible again, blending into the wall. But while his goblins were confused, he had never removed his eyes from that spot. And understanding had washed over him to match the disbelief, realizing he was looking at a Silver-Scale of all things, using her talent in a way he had never seen before. 

The Silver-Scale clan had been masters of camouflage, able to manipulate the brilliant surfaces of their scales and wings to match whatever environment they were in. This had made them an integral force in the war, not only because they were so adept with stealth, but also because they were fast and strong, easily able to carry out difficult and demanding covert missions. That was until the purebloods had gotten wise to their tactics, using rather barbaric tactics of their own in response. But, pushing those memories to the side, Bog had been utterly awed by the fact that this woman was doing far more than simply camouflaging herself. 

She was literally turning herself invisible.

Not intangible, he had found, as he had reached out to where he had believed her leg to be and managed to close his hand around her calf. She had yelped and whacked him in the knee at that point, coming fully visible to the astonishment of the others around him. Despite his incredulity, he had needed to keep a straight face, realizing she was hanging out of the window upside down because she had caught the tie of her ankle brace on a window spoke. Evidently, she had decided to camouflage herself and wait to see if she had attracted any attention with her fall. She had to have been there for at least several minutes before they had shown up. Though he did not definitively know how long she had stayed like that.

Because she still would not talk to him.

They had managed to get her off the window and wall and she had promptly slumped to her knees, barely looking at any of them and keeping her mouth shut tight. She had finally looked at him with quite a bit of encouragement, but she had still yet to speak a single word.

Bog huffed lightly, restraining himself from pinching the bridge of his nose. Ten years being the only halfblood left in the Dark Forest and now that there was another materialized like a miracle in front of him, she would not talk. “Please,” he tried again, crouching down in front of her, “I know this is a bit of a shock, it is to me too,” he continued in a soft tone. She simply stared. He could see in his peripheral that she was clenching and unclenching her fists against the hard mud, though. He tilted his head. “Would you at least tell me your name?” 

Not a peep.

He tried not to let his frustration seep into his expression. Then, a thought occurred to him. _Seems unlikely that she wouldn’t know…_ He took a steadying breath. “Okay. I’ll start. I’m Bog. The Bog King.” He tapped his free hand to his chest, claws tapping with uncharacteristic loudness in the stark quiet still surrounding them. He noticed her flinch at the sound, eyes darting to his hand then back up to his again. He would have flinched too. He was still unnerved by this unnatural quiet, but he was more concerned with this new discovery right at the moment. He continued. “You can just call me Bog if you like-“

“I know.”

He stopped short, eyes going wide at the smallest of whispers escaping her lips. He could feel his patrols turning to look as well. He tilted his head again. “What?” he whispered back.

“I know who ye are,” she breathed, voice deathly quiet but somehow loud in the overwhelming silence of the air.

He shook his head, further disbelief marring his expression. “Then… why have you-“

“I dinnae thin’ this’s real,” she murmured, wide eyes never leaving his. 

He blinked slowly. “You,” he gestured to himself, “didn’t think _I_ was real?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “This.” She finally moved, her scales making far less noise against each other than his were, rolling her clawed hand in a circular motion in the air. “This ‘ole thin’.” She took her eyes away, glancing around the area. “Sumthin’s wrong ‘ere.” She looked back to him. “Ye were the las’ thin’ I thou’ I’d see wi’ this.”

He lowered one of his knees to the ground, leaning closer. “Can ye tell me?” he whispered. “What’s going on-“

“Sire!”

He whipped around to his patrol looking to the west, hearing the Silver-Scale growl under her breath as he did so. He could hardly blame her. The sudden shout had rung out like a bell in a watchtower. “What?” he hissed. He barely had time to see the patrol point before he saw in the distance a collection of butterfly and moth wings approaching. 

His eyes went wide as he immediately recognized Marianne’s glowing violet leading the team. He turned to the woman and held his hand up in a placating gesture. “These are friends,” he whispered. 

She tore her eyes from where she had been staring at the approaching fae and looked to him with a disturbing amount of concern. “They’re too loud,” she whispered back. 

He tilted his head, realizing she was right. The clanking of metal of the soldiers’ armor was a total ruckus in the silence. Even their wingbeats, normally rather quiet compared to other winged creatures, were surprisingly noisy. He nodded to the Silver-Scale. “Just wait,” he said, resisting heavily the urge to grip her shoulder in a comforting notion. 

He stood and made his way to the open space just a few paces away that Marianne was clearly steering them towards. It was then that his sharp eyes caught golden hair and orange moth wings. 

All at once, several emotions vied for attention and he stood frozen, staring, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. He tore his eyes away from the tail end of their formation, looking back almost desperately to search for Marianne’s gaze. The relief in her eyes was not helping the kaleidoscope effect of his insides… but it _did_ help him push down his anger that was biting at the bars to loose his form and send him careening into the pack of fae to strike without regard. Within seconds they landed, and he saw the flutter on Marianne’s face, as he was sure his own was not too pleasant to the eye right at the moment. Confusion and concern played across her features before understanding made its home. She rose her head, taking a breath to speak. He quickly raised his free hand to place a finger to his lips. She immediately closed hers, looking around, hand dropping to her sword hilt. Oh, how that melted his walls that had slammed back up so instantly he had not the time to notice. But melt they did, and he felt the dark scowl that he had been host to fall away, though he could not keep the hardness from his eyes. He still did not know what was going on in his forest and the appearance of the golden-haired, traitorous bastard was hardly a welcome addition to the list of current events.

Bog held his hand out and Marianne walked forward without skipping a beat. The warm skin of her shoulder under his fingers calmed him even further as she closed the distance, though, he could not help a glance back to the tail end of the group. He noticed how Roland was under the eye of two of the soldiers and how he refused to look up. He also noticed how out of sorts the cretin was. He narrowed his eyes. “What is _he_ doing here?” he whispered.

Marianne glanced back behind her. She sighed. “It’s a long story,” she said back, her own voice hushed to match his. She looked to him with something akin to a grimace. “He’s the one that wrote the note warning of the council.” 

“What!?” He cringed instantly, aggravating himself with his own outburst. He looked around as if something would pop out of the trees. Nothing did. He was not sure if that was a good or bad thing. “What?” he repeated in a quieter tone.

“Yeah,” Marianne answered. “He left a second note today and I caught him sneaking away through the secret passage from my room.”

Bog shook his head slowly. He had no idea what to think. “Wha- why? And, wh- how?”

Marianne closed her lips tight and shook her head. “That’s the long story part of it.”

“And what about Dagda?” he inserted. “Did he- he didn’t approve this did he?” he asked, gesturing randomly in Roland’s direction. 

Marianne heaved yet another sigh. “That’s the other part of the long story.” She then grabbed his arm and looked to him with a suddenly hard expression. “But we can get to that soon enough. The reason we’re here is to get you out of here. You’re-“

“Wait, what?”

“You’re in danger!” Marianne blurted. She froze, realizing how loudly she had spoken. 

Bog just barely held off the monumental urge to run his fingers into his eyes. “Oh, still?” he said instead, though on second thought his snarkyness likely was not any better.

Marianne made a face but still held securely to his arm. “This is serious, Bog. We need to-“

The both of them froze as he heard commotion behind him. Before he could even turn his head, he felt clawed hands grasp at his form, one at his side and the other at his chest. A chill ran down his spine at the contact and _locations_ of the contact. Then a chill of another kind dumped into his blood as he saw Marianne look just to his right at his shoulder. Those amber eyes of hers locked back onto his with an odd ferocity reflected in them. _Oh no,_ he thought absently. Before he could even get a word out, quiet hissing erupted at his side.

“Ye both need teh shut ye’re faces,” the Silver-Scale whispered harshly. “Do ye ‘ave any idea ‘ow much noise ye’re mak’n?”

“Sorry, sire!” one of his patrols chimed quietly. “She was too fast for us.”

“And who is this?” Marianne asked, making no attempt to lower her volume, eyes never leaving Bog’s.

He stared. “Eh… Marianne, this is… um…” he glanced to the side, seeing the Silver-Scale glaring daggers at Marianne. Her eyes darted to his and he would have flinched had he not been frozen rock solid with the tension that had suddenly sprung taught like a bow string. 

“Chae,” she breathed. “M’name’s Chae.” She looked back to Marianne. “An’ we’re _all_ in danger righ’ now.”

**~*~**

Dagda stood quiet outside the chamber door, listening intently to the shouting going on inside. Rex stood at his side, arms crossed and brows raising and lowering dramatically with the course of the yelling. 

“They don’t seem to be giving anything away,” Rex mumbled.

“That they don’t,” Dagda agreed.

“Amusing how they keep yelling at the guard like that’ll make them spontaneously forget their orders,” Rex said with a smirk.

Dagda scoffed. “Not like they can contend.” 

When he had ordered all Misty Rivers people confined to their guest chambers, he had also silently ordered Rex to disarm both their royal and court guard. Being outnumbered by the entire Green Meadows castle guard and then backed up with his own royal guard for good measure, they had complied. Though, considering their kingdoms’ longstanding alliance, he could not rule out the protocol by which all soldiers were trained to diffuse misunderstandings. Given the situation and what little they knew, he was not sure which option was more confusing. And while the council and Cole were still armed with their weapons, the only one skilled enough to do anything of impact was Cole. If he had really wanted to, he could have gotten out and away by now. 

_That_ was even more confusing.

“Well, sounds like it’s just going in circles now,” Rex commented. He uncrossed his arms and gestured for the door. “Shall we?”

Dagda nodded. “We shall.” Rex moved for the door, but he beat him to it, pushing both sections of the large double door inward without pretense. The hollering quieted as the creek of the hinges echoed off the walls.

Then came the silence. 

His guard stepped aside as he walked into the expansive common room, his eyes scanning their “guests” one by one. He left no room for question in his expression as he stood a pace in front of his soldiers, resting his left hand to his sword hilt with his other at his belt. Oh, how good it felt to be out of that bulky armor. And how good it felt to see the confusion and apprehension on all the faces looking towards him. Cerian especially, looked as if he were seeing an apparition. _Good,_ he thought viciously. 

“So,” he said sharply, sweeping the room once again. He spotted Cole near the back table with Lexenios beside him. The prince looked just as uneasy as the others. He tilted his head. “Anyone care to explain?”

Cerian snapped out of his shock in an instant, drawing himself to his full height, brilliant blue wings raising slightly behind him to display the deep black, white-rimmed spots of the undersides. “Excuse _you!_ You are the one who needs to explain, your _majesty._ The audacity you have to lock us up-“

“Let me repeat myself,” Dagda cut him off, his voice raising a notch but somehow coming across as a near growl. “Would anyone care to explain your plot against the Bog King of the Dark Forest?”

“What!?” Cerian shot.

Murmuring broke out behind him among the other council members as they looked to one another in confusion. Even Cole radiated astonishment, eyes darting to the council.

“How dare you make such a wretched accusation!” Cerian thundered. “Where have you come up with this totally unfounded-“

“First-hand witness account,” Dagda cut him off again. 

The room went quiet once more.

“You have nothing of the sort,” Cerian insisted, hands fisted to his sides as he glared without reserve.

Dagda allowed a quirk of his lips at that. “Oh, I do.” He raised his hand from his belt to tap his temple just below his crown.

Cerian’s eyes widened for a moment before he resumed his glower. “I don’t believe you.”

“What you believe is irrelevant,” Dagda said lowly. “Either you tell me everything now, or you sit in here while I find out for myself.” He tightened his grip on his sword as he stared down the defiance with his own fire.

Cerian held his gaze, apparently unphased. He then narrowed his eyes. “And what would your brother-in-arms say to this treatment of his court council, I wonder?” he returned in his own low tone.

Dagda let out a huff through his nose. “I wonder, indeed,” he ground out, is ire spiking at the veiled threat that the man had no right in making. His eyes shot straight to Cole. He did not miss the way Cole’s brows darted down, the slight twitch of his head. He looked back to Cerian, making no effort to hide his anger. “So be it.” 

He turned without another word, his wings stiff behind him, buffering the air in his wake. 

“Wha- don’t you-“ Cerian’s words and steps both were cut off as his castle guard stepped forward and closed the space behind him, blocking the councilman with their swords. “You’ll not get away with this, _King of Fire!_ ” he spat with acid in his words.

Dagda turned just out of the frame of the doors, his guard already pulling them shut. He leveled his molten gaze to the brazen man who dared insult him in his own castle. 

“Watch me.”

**~*~**

He needed a mug of snapdragon rum. On second thought, he needed a whole bottle.

Bog growled as he paced in his study, not dissimilar in function to Dagda’s office. About three times larger and twice as tall sporting a large circular window on the far wall, it doubled more as his own personal library than anything else. He had a vast array of scrolls and important parchments stored in the shelves placed here and there and in cubbies carved into the walls. He had his own maps spiked up on free spaces of wall depicting things like each of the clan territories within the forest, herd routes for their domesticated insects and animals, farming regions scattered strategically, different producing areas such as metalworks and leathers, and so on. His desk was situated at the farthest corner away from both the door and window, allowing him more quiet to work with. Whenever he managed to be seated at the rough-hewn structure for more than a few minutes at a time. It was currently playing seat to Marianne who was leaning over her crossed legs with her hands gripping the edge tightly, face contorted in disquieted thoughtfulness. The others, being Roland and Chae, were situated more in the center of the room on two of the large moss-pillow cushions used for guests, both looking immensely uncomfortable for immensely differing reasons.

Roland, because his actions and witness account had been laid bare, only Dagda’s word towards the authenticity of his testimony keeping Bog from shackling him and throwing him in the dungeon. Chae, because damnear her whole life story had been dragged out into the open as part of her explanation of not only the current situation, but _her_ situation. While Bog was inclined to be considerate of her right to privacy, the fact that she was even alive in front of them was both exhilarating and aggravating.

He had thought he was the only halfblood left. She had known that she was not. So why had she kept herself hidden all these years? 

Her answer was that it was all she had known. 

Her mother and father had not been very close with the rest of the Silver-Scale clan. They had not quite seen eye-to-eye with their clan members on certain matters, of which Chae was rather mum about, and had essentially been shunned. They had retreated into the thicker wood to the east, making their own home away from other villages and inlets. Their life had been lived in anonymity, concealed by the overgrowth. Their reclusive nature had lead to the development of the special talent Chae had shown off without intending to – the art of invisibility. With this discovery of such an extreme usage of their camouflage, they had managed to hide themselves even when out in the open, something that any other Silver-Scale would have dreamt of being able to do.

It was this ability that had allowed them to hide-out the war. 

Chae revealed she had been only fifteen at the time the war started. Not old enough to make her own decision on the matter. Instead she had been tasked with helping in their concealment, helping keep watch, gather supplies, and hide their tracks. However, their care and preparedness had only lasted them so long.

Her father had been captured first.

When scouting a path for them, he had clung to the side of a tree. He had not realized it had been coated with treated sap that had stuck him fast. He had told them to leave him, knowing what would happen. Chae affirmed he had been correct. Bog had flinched, hearing her speak about how the purebloods had shown up not long after hearing him try to free himself. Chae and her mother had not been far, hiding while invisible between the roots of some undergrowth. They had to watch as he was forcibly torn from the tree, bark and his own scales and skin alike ripping as it was done, then carried off in the direction of the camp. They had heard his pleas, stating that he did not want to fight, he did not care about the war, he just wanted to be let go. They had heard the purebloods tell him “too bad.” They had heard the aftermath, his screams throughout part of the night until they had finally deemed it safe to continue their escape. 

For more than a month they had not left the seclusion and safety of their home. But inevitably, she and her mother had needed to continue their gathering efforts. Though, they continued with far stealthier and careful methods than before. They had managed to escape notice for another three or so months. However, by that time, Bog having done his own mental calculations, the war had progressed to its harshest point. The purebloods had taken to spreading out along their territory, covering as much of their controlled regions as possible. While that had stretched them thin, they had become far more vicious with defeat looming over them like a dark cloud.   
This was when Chae’s mother had sacrificed herself for her daughter’s sake.

They had been gathering food and had noticed the purebloods in the area. The purebloods had noticed the movement. Despite hiding out in an old, bored out shrub-root, the purebloods were not leaving. They had continued their efforts fervently, getting closer and closer to the hiding spot. It was then that Chae’s mother had decided her life was worth giving up if it meant her daughter could get away. She had darted out without her camouflage. Her distraction had worked and the pureblood pack had paid her their sole attention. She had fought against them brutally, even throwing several off of her once they had captured her between them. Her struggle had tested their patience, however, and a well-placed hit from the commander had snapped her neck. They had then carried her body off with them, mumbling about making the corpse an example.

Chae could not speak to how many days she had stayed in that spot afterword, hiding in he root. When she finally emerged, she had gone straight to their home and had stayed there for the remainder of the war, eating only of her supply the barest to survive. Several months, seven by her estimate, had gone by before she had ventured out to continue her gathering. 

By that time, the war had long ended.

Though, she would not find out until nearly a whole year later when her efforts had brought her close enough to a village to realize the people were living peaceably. Only by carefully watching and listening did she piece together the fact that the war had been won, the Bog King emerging victorious. 

And alone as the last of the halfbloods.

Chae had looked down then, eyeing her hands clasped in her lap. She had admitted that while hiding was so natural to her that breaking that habit had been the furthest from her mind… she also confessed that she was disheartened. She had not _wanted_ to go out into the world and be a part of the greater populace of the Dark Forest. Her clan before had shunned her and her family, and the war had taken them away.

If that was what it was like in society with other people, why would she want to be a part of it?

Bog could not find it in him to conjure any blame or ill feelings towards that sentiment. From her perspective, she had a point. 

However, that brought them to the next order of events.

Chae had continued living out her life, gathering what she needed, growing what she could not gather, making her own tools, implements or fabrics, and on extremely rare occasions, covering herself head to toe with cloak and leathers to pass as a traveling fairy if she needed to barter for something she simply could not make, find or grow. She had been living a private, secluded and undisturbed life, every day the same as the last, month trailing into month, year into year… then something changed.

No less than seven months ago Chae noticed animals disappearing from the forest. She could not confirm if that was when the disappearances actually started, or just when she became aware of them. Regardless, the animal life around her had started to thin out. At the same time, a strange quiet had begun creeping into the air. Not simply the average quiet that prevails when the forest and its creatures are inactive for a time, but an uneasy stillness that seemed to absorb noise from everything as it continued its encroachment. Bog had thought back to when they were near the village and he caught on immediately. The stillness was unearthly, unreal. The leaves and foliage, whether in the undergrowth or the upper canopy did not move. They barely moved when he and his team flew by. And the leaves on the ground only moved when his patrols actually touched or bumped into them. It was as if even the air itself had ceased to move. Chae was practiced at sneaking through leaves, roots, thick moss, thickets, undergrowth, everything in the forest, without making any noise or moving any items unnecessarily. So, while she had noticed the stillness, the silence, it took her time to realize just how all-consuming it had come to be. By then she had also realized how the animals themselves had become almost non-existent. And while all this was worrisome in and of itself, Chae had also confirmed something Bog _had_ been aware of but had not put a great deal of importance on.

For months now the bog sprites had been complaining about the northern marshes expanding into their territory. 

The sprites and other goblins made their home in the northern swamps that bordered the marshlands that stretched between the Dark Forest and Misty Rivers kingdoms – the whole area collectively called the Marshes for simplicity. But while the residents of the area liked the damp, mushy environment and the excess water, they also liked their trees. He could not blame them, he liked his trees too. But, he had originally had a hard time believing their claims, stating the marshes were thinning the trees out and slowly the tree line was receding, making way for the open air. The reason being they could not show him proof that any trees were falling. He had gone down to the area when the claims first started and could not definitely confirm for himself what they were saying, even when looking at a border map for reference. Certain areas of the Dark Forest were harder to draw a direct line with, the marshes being one of these areas. Any variances in the tree line just seemed like natural inconsistency brought on by how vague this region was. But what Chae was telling him was not that any trees were falling or even spontaneously dying.

They were disappearing.

As if all of this was not bad enough, Chae mentioned one more thing that was out of place: A scent.

There was a scent of some kind, not drenching everything, but present none-the-less, stronger in some areas, weaker in others. She could not identify what it belonged to, but she insisted it was not a normal presence in that part of the forest.

Bog did not make mention of Plum’s statement to him. 

Even with someone else identifying the strange smell, the dark magick aspect was not something he could run with without further evidence. As much as he had come to be more… _tolerant_ of Plum’s presence, he was not going to trust her blindly.

With all of that out of the way, among all the questions that were still present, the most pressing was why Chae had kept all of this to herself? Sure, she did not want to be a part of the Dark Forest citizenry, she did not want to be known or draw attention to herself, she wanted to be alone in her small part of the world… but that was the point. The Dark Forest was still her home. She could have said something in some way. Sent a letter, quietly snuck it into the castle - even Roland had risked his life doing that much, _for some reason._ Bog was still questioning that but was trying very hard to maintain his trust in Dagda for that particular subject.

Chae did not have a real answer for why she had kept silent. Her downcast look, appearing almost ashamed had struck a chord. Bog wanted to be upset with her in some way. But he also could not bring himself to be too hard on her considering everything she had revealed of her life so far. So, he had not pressed the issue with any great vigor. At least he knew now. 

But what did it all mean?

He held his chin in thought, still pacing a track along the floor as he had been for several minutes since they had all stopped talking. He was not sure how this information fit together with his initial concerns over the situation with Prince Cole. He had assumed Cole had somehow secretly ordered a baiting operation to force his hand. But the more he heard Chae talk about it, the more this seemed unrelated. But it was just too coincidental that his people would be taken the night Cole revealed his secrets. 

Bog skipped a step. _Wait…_ He looked to Marianne who had looked up at his stumble. _Does she know? Did Dagda even manage to say anything to her about it._ He stood straight, hand falling from his chin. “Marianne-“

“Right.”

He blinked. “What?”

Marianne hopped off his desk and started for the table butted against the far wall under the window. “I need to contact Dad. We’ve spent a lot of time going over all this, he’s probably getting worried,” she said distractedly. 

_Not what I was thinking but…_ He nodded. “Yes, right.” He started towards the table as well. “And, how are we doing that again?”

“This,” Marianne said with a smirk. Bog looked to see her pulling the soft leather wrapping from the item Roland had carried with him, having treated it almost as if his life depended on it. 

It was a mirror. Nothing terribly much to look at, though it was framed in polished silver. Rather large to be carrying openly as well, looking approximately the length of Marianne’s forearm from where it started to the tip of her middle finger. 

He raised a brow. “Em… right. That doesn’t answer the question.”

Marianne let out a giggle as she set the mirror upright against the stand that had been packed with it. “It’s called a scrying mirror. You can use it to see and talk to someone who has the partner mirror.”

Bog stared at the reflective surface. He glanced to her then back to the mirror. “How?” he managed.

Marianne looked to him and he saw her visibly force herself to keep from laughing. “You’ll see,” she said, smile in her voice. It then dropped slightly as she stepped in front of the mirror, reaching out and gripping the silver frame. 

Bog watched her intently as she closed her eyes and seemed to fall into deep concentration. 

“So… You, uh… can turn invisible, huh?”

He could have rolled his eyes as he heard Roland’s attempted whisper behind them. He nearly smirked in satisfaction as it appeared Chae was not going to respond. But to his disappointment her silence did not last long.

“Yes.”

“That’s… neat… Can… I ask how?”

Bog narrowed his eyes, still watching Marianne’s expression.

“I… eh, cannae tell ye,” Chae whispered back. “It, eh… is jus’ sumth’n we do.”

“Oh… so you don’t know how you do it?” Roland questioned.

Bog raised a brow at that. He did actually find that interesting. Did she really not know how? That seemed far-fetched.

“Well… I cannae tell how… I ca’tell wha’ it feels like?”

He could almost hear Roland tilting his head. He had to physically restrain himself from doing the same.

“Yeah? What is that?” Roland whispered.

Chae was quiet a moment. “It… feels like I’m go’in cold, bu’ naw bad cold. Like, eh, cool air on a hot day? From ‘ere com’n down.”

Bog heard her move. Curiosity got the better of him as he just barely angled his face, glancing back to see Chae grasping her own head. She was touching her fingers to spots just up and behind her ears. He then heard a quiet intake of breath and strained his eyes to look at Roland who was staring at her wide-eyed.

“You’re using glamour!” he hissed in astonishment. 

His own eyes went wide as he quickly looked away. All at once, the realization and understanding thundered into his head. His memory of watching Cole reveal his true form and then hide it again rippled behind his open eyes, the prince’s words floating in at the same time: _“…Fae have the ability to project a likeness of their choosing onto their immediate form._ _You_ _should have the ability too, with the fae blood in your veins…”_

This whole time the Silver-Scale clan were using _glamour_ to create their camouflage.

And Chae’s small fraction of the clan had taken it a step farther. 

A sudden huff of air, a noise of discomfort, broke into Bog’s revelatory thoughts as he refocused on Marianne in front of him. Concern flooded his mind as he saw her pained expression, her grip too tight on the mirror. “Marianne?” he let out, reaching for her shoulder.

“Wait- Don’t touch her!”

Instant anger flared as he looked to the golden-haired nuisance. Between that, the terrified look on Roland’s face, and his original concern at the air of discomfort emanating from Marianne, he had not the time to stop his motion and his fingertips brushed the bare skin of Marianne’s shoulder. 

His whole body convulsed as if raw electricity were surging through his form, his vision erupting in flashes of multi-colored light as pain flared to life in his skull. Through the mix of sensations, he heard something that sounded like screams or shouting. Then he felt a tremor flutter though him before abrupt pain accosted his wings, back and back of his head. 

The last thing Bog heard was a multitude of thudding noises that seemed to reverberate through his back before his mind went dark.

**~*~**

Crystal-blue eyes gazed out of the window, not really seeing the brightly lit scenery. He also paid no heed to the guards very obviously mounted below the window. It made no difference.

If he were so inclined to leave, they could not stop him.

Cole rested his chin on his hand, looking but not seeing as his thoughts both raced and stagnated at the same time.

How? How had Dagda figured out there was _anything_ going on, let alone something involving the Bog King in particular? And to say he had an _eyewitness_ account? Someone had seen them? He was no fool, he knew what Dagda had meant, tapping his temple like that. Someone had shown him what they had seen, and it had been more than enough. But who? When? And when in the world would they have gotten the opportunity to tell him? After all these months of planning, his careful moves and deliberate actions and someone still managed to catch on.

Cole sighed. _No matter,_ he thought. _Clearly, they only know this piece of the puzzle._

That appeared to be the case anyway. Dagda had not mentioned anything else. So, either he was unaware, or he was keeping that information to himself to see who would slip up. 

_Far more likely he’s unaware_ , Cole mused. _I wouldn’t be sitting in this comfortable room otherwise, I’m sure._ He grimaced lightly as doubt clouded into his mind. _Or would I?_

As if sensing his sudden falter, Ta’Kheta’s presence expanded from their link. _‘What troubles you, your highness?’_ the silky voice cooed into his mind.

 _‘Nothing,’_ he answered. He knew it was no use lying, but it was more his way of saying he did not wish to speak on it. 

Ta’Kheta was not much for letting things go, however. _‘Now, now, we’ve had this discussion.’_

 _‘I know. That’s why I said ‘nothing’,’_ he iterated, trying to keep irritation out of his response.

There rang an odd approximation of an amused chuckle through their link. _‘We do what we must the way we do, otherwise we risk the wise as foolish fodder,’_ Ta’Kheta chimed, not for the first time.

Oddly, the lullaby-ish melody always soothed him in a way. Perhaps that was why Ta’Kheta repeated it as often as he did. _‘Yes,’_ he responded. _‘As you say.’_

He felt the feintest impression of a comforting gesture. _‘Patience, my prince-‘_

Noise drew his attention and Cole whipped his head from the window to his chamber door. Lex at his side took a quick step that was not quite quick enough as Cerian pushed the door open. His guard stood aside with glaring faces, obviously working hard to refrain from manhandling the head of the Court Council. Cerian, for his part, appeared angry enough that he may have welcomed the challenge, striding in as if he owned the room. 

Cole stretched his legs out, turning from the window to stand fluidly, not about to be looked down at. “Ah, Cerian. To what do I owe the-“

“Save your nonsense,” the older man barked, coming to stand just a hair too close. “What have you done?”

Cole raised a brow, tilting his head. “Excuse you?”

“Don’t play dumb, boy- what have you done?” Cerian all but yelled into his face. “You go meet secretly with the king of the Dark Forest and suddenly Dagda thinks we’re trying to kill him? Do you think I’m stupid?” 

Cole had to keep from laughing aloud as he held the councilman’s gaze. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he managed with a straight face and calm expression.

Perhaps he had been too focused on the grey-black eyes burning with fury. Perhaps he had not thought the man would dare do such a thing since he was now more than a boy. Or perhaps it was simply straight luck on Cerian’s part. Whatever the case, Cole did not realize what Cerian was doing until the back of the man’s hand had already collided with his cheekbone. 

The backhand forced his head to the side as his body jerked leftward, sparks exploding into his vision. The pain was enough to tell him there would be a bruise later. Cerian had purposefully bowed his knuckles. 

The nostalgia that swirled into his gut ignited the anger in his chest once more.

His glamour was gone in an instant, as was his patience, as he was suddenly nose-to-nose with the head of the council, fangs bared in an unhindered snarl, hands at his sides poised, clawed fingertips aimed at the transgressor in front of him. “Want to run that by me again, _Cerian?_ ” he hissed.

Cerian held his gaze without so much as a wince. “It seems you need to be reminded of who is really in charge, _prince_ ,” he whispered.

He felt his knuckles crack as he did all in his power to keep from sinking his claws into the man’s ribs, teeth aching as he clenched them tightly in an attempt to stifle the very beastly urge to bite into the wretch. He tilted his head, keeping his gaze on point. “Oh… I _know_ ,” he breathed.

Cerian narrowed his eyes. “Do you, now?” he questioned, that smug arrogance dripping from his voice.

The urge to rip the man’s head from his shoulders increased tenfold. 

_‘Now, now, my prince,’_ Ta’Kheta suddenly whispered into his mind. _‘Patience… patience is your prized possession. Do not take it for granted.’_

Cole closed his lips, forcing a deep breath through his nose. With great effort, he forced himself to stand upright, closing his eyes as well. He rolled his shoulders and allowed his wings to shiver lightly with the movement. “Yes, Head Council Cerian,” he said in a low, smooth tone. “I know _more_ than _enough_.” He snapped his eyes open and instantly caught those grey-black depths. Even with his anger still racing through his veins, satisfaction melted in at the abrupt, ever-subtle change in Cerian’s countenance.

A minute squint of the eyes, a barely noticeable twitch of the head, the feintest motion of his shoulders raising ever-so-slightly. 

_That’s right, Cerian._ He could have grinned like a Cheshire. Instead, he managed a pleasant curl of the lips, a slight dip of his head as he crossed his hands behind his back and pulled his glamour back over his form. _Oh, how much I know._

They stared at each other for a moment, the silence lasting barely a second, but seeming to stretch for hours.

“Anything else I can help you with?” Cole questioned politely, tilting his head as that unnervingly pleasant expression fell over his face once more.

Cerian angled his head downward, keeping his eyes locked on the prince. His fists were white-knuckled at his sides as his wings shifted, tightening against his back. “No. That will be all for now. Your _highness_.”

With that he turned, storming out of the room with haste. 

Cole felt his smile betraying him as he watched the man’s wings disappear beyond the doorframe. The feeling was euphoric, seeing how unnerved the bastard had become with just a simple sentence.

 _‘See~’_ Ta’Kheta cooed. _‘Give him just enough… then watch it consume him,’_ he said, his voice taking on a vicious edge. _‘Though, I must say, I’m impressed.’_

Cole allowed sardonic amusement to filter through. _‘Well, personal best then. Impressing someone like you._ ’

“Your highness?” Cole’s eyes tore from the door to those of his captain, looking up at him with concern. “Are you alright?” Lex questioned, his hand just barely making contact with the prince’s arm.

Cole did not shy away from the touch, but he did not respond to it either. “All is well, Lex,” he answered simply. He gave one last glance to the door, the others of his guard already shutting it, before stepping back to the window.

He did not see how Lexenios watched him intently, taking in how his head gave a small twitch, how his wings shivered just so, how his motions were too liquid as he retook his seat on the viewing bench. He also did not notice how his captain looked over his face closely, taking in the unblinking gaze and slight tics of his brows and ears.

Lex took a deep breath, turning to face the door as he crossed his arms.

“As you say, my prince.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have a tumblr account for this series, "fromtheashesstrangemagic" where I intend to post art and character illustrations for this story.  
> There isn't much on there right now, and posts will be slow in coming, but hey, it's something.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations and recollections.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.   
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.

His nerves were roiling in his stomach. He felt light-headed and he wanted to throw up. Well, he did not _want_ to throw up, but he felt like it might happen. Which only made him more nervous because with everything going on right now, he did _not_ want to add that into the mix.

Sunny wrang his hands together as he paced at the head of the hall leading to Dagda’s office. He was entirely sure that he had no reason to be this damn nervous about asking this particular series of questions. It was only logical. After all, with everything his majesty had shared, it was a natural conclusion to make. Preparations were not out of the question, were they?

He groaned quietly. “Well, you won’t know if you don’t ask!” he hissed at himself. 

“Why don’t you?”

“WHAAHAA!!” Sunny jumped, springing into the air as if he had meant an acrobatic move. He turned about-face to see Rex leaning against the wall, looking down at him with a smirk, hazel eyes sparkling in amusement. “WHY did you do that?” Sunny shot out on impulse, running his hands up his face. 

Rex let out a chuckle. “I didn’t _intend_ to scare you,” he commented, stroking his goatee. 

Sunny groaned and shook his head under his hands. “I’m sure. Sorry, Captain, I’m just a little on edge right now.”

“No apologies necessary, Sir Sunny,” Rex said amiably, smile in his voice.

He took a deep breath and dropped his hands. “How long have you been standing there?”

Rex looked to the side in thought. “Oh… maybe ten minutes.”

Sunny flinched. “Ah.”

Rex let out another laugh. “But I’ve noticed you here pacing for at least the last twenty.”

He grimaced and looked to the side, holding his hands tightly in front of him. “Oh.”

“Maaaybe you should come on in and talk to Dagda now,” Rex prodded with an understanding smile.

Sunny looked to the taller man as he took a deep breath. “You told him I’m out here.”

“Yup.” Rex winked. 

He huffed out the breath as his shoulders slumped. 

Rex stood from the wall and reached down to pat his shoulder. “Come along, Sir Sunny. No use in wearing out the floor out here.” He guided Sunny towards the office with gentle pressure. “The floor of his office is far more suited to a beating,” he chided.

Sunny snickered, the older man’s calm demeanor doing wonders for his nerves. “Is that so?” he questioned with a raised brow.

“Oh yes. You have _no idea_ ,” he said cryptically, giving no explanation despite the smile on his face.

Sunny nodded, his previously calming nerves suddenly doing a backflip at that statement. “Oh, and, by the way, uh…” he glanced to the side, as if the smooth rock of the wall had suddenly become so much more interesting.

“Yes?” Rex responded with all the silkiness of a Cheshire.

“You, uh… I mean, you don’t have to call me _Sir_ Sunny,” he said sheepishly, fiddling with his fingers behind his back.

Rex chuckled at that. “Oh, yes I do.” He held his hand up before Sunny could retort. “You, sir, are a noble consort. So, the title must be acknowledged.”

Sunny took a deep breath, trying to fight his own insecurity at that statement. “Well, I mean, I’m not noble-“

“Noble isn’t all about bloodlines, boy,” Rex said, crossing his arms as he turned face Sunny, standing in front of the office door.

Sunny swallowed none-too-quietly. “I… uuuh-“

Rex suddenly crouched, resting his elbows to his knees as he came eyelevel. 

Sunny froze.

Rex’s face was set with a mask of severity as he eyed Sunny. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” Sunny squeaked.

Rex remained quiet for a moment. “Do you love the girl?”

Sunny felt his eyes go even wider if that were possible. “YES!” He slapped his hands over his mouth. Where the indignation had come from, he had no idea, but as per usual, his body was faster than his self-control.

Rex merely stared.

And continued to stare.

Sunny stared back, hands still over his mouth, anxiety building higher and higher at the attention.

Then, Rex grinned. “Good!” he piped, standing up with a jolt.

Sunny blinked, feeling rather dumb from the exchange. _What just happened?_ “Eh?” he let out. 

Rex had already turned and gripped the handle of the office door. He looked back, that smirk ever-present on his face somehow holding an affectionate quality to it. “You deserve the title of Noble Consort, Sir Sunny.”

He felt his face flush, though why he could not be sure. He did not have time to think about it, however, as Rex was already opening the door. 

“In you get,” he said playfully, gesturing inward with his free arm.

Sunny jumped and headed in. As he passed the captain, he did manage a sheepish glance his direction. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Rex smiled warmly. “For what?” With that, he closed the door behind him. 

Sunny swallowed his nerves as he looked to the door before he balled his fists and shook himself. _Okay. I can do this,_ he pepped to himself. He looked up to Dagda’s desk. His eyes went wide again as his mouth promptly dropped open.

Dagda was sitting at his desk, nearly obscured from view as he had stacks of papers, towers of books and bundles of scrolls of varying sizes crowding the surface. Clearly researching something, he was currently bent over a few unrolled scrolls, seeming to be looking through all three at the same time.

Sunny blinked dumbly, wondering if he should just back away and try again later.

“Sorry, Sunny, just checking these last few lines,” Dagda mumbled, leaning up and scanning one of the scrolls more closely.

“Oh! Uh, n-no need to apologize for anything, your majesty! I mean, I am coming unannounced-“

“You say that like it’s a problem,” Dagda cut in, smile briefly flickering along his face. He then sighed, clearly unhappy with the papers in front of him. “I think I need a distraction anyway.” He stood, running his fingers into his eyes as he walked around the desk.

Sunny bit the inside of his lip, concern flooding him once again. He knew what the king had _told_ them, but he felt perhaps they had not been given the whole story as to his mysterious weight loss. That, coupled with the surrealism of seeing him walking around in the open now, without making a point to hide the fact was grating on the mind. And while he did not want to press his luck by actually saying anything aloud, he felt perhaps the stress of the current situation was very much not helping matters.

“What did you want to talk about, Sunny?” Dagda asked, sitting at one of the coffee table chairs and gesturing a hand to the one across from him.

Sunny started slightly, heading for the chair. _I guess I also never considered I’d be able to just sit down and talk to his majesty so personally either,_ he thought randomly. Despite his longtime friendship with Dawn, he had been rather distant from her father, the king. Never was he disrespectful, always cheery, kind, and courteous, but he had always felt so underwhelming in the face of someone like him. Even with the rumors surrounding the king over the last decade. Not that he had ever found enough courage to even ask Dawn about the rumors. Never-the-less, even his wildest daydreams had never seen him sitting one-on-one in the man’s private office, about to ask him about very official things that he had never really put thought towards before. 

He hopped onto the seat and shuffled a smidge, trying to make himself more physically comfortable. He saw Dagda’s hand move and looked to see him tap on a tray sitting atop the coffee table, somehow oblivious to its presence until the king had pointed it out. 

“The carafes have both coffee and tea,” Dagda mentioned before a slight smile quirked his lips. “I’d advise tea, since you look so nervous you might pass out.”

Sunny laughed reflexively, but he could hear the ever-persistent nerves in his own voice. His laughter died down with a sigh. “I’m so obvious,” he muttered.

It was Dagda’s turn to chuckle. “If it’s any consolation, your time with the council and around people of state seems to help. You’re keeping a straight face when directly addressed, so that’s good.”

Sunny looked to him in surprise, momentarily stunned by the partial compliment as he watched Dagda pour himself some coffee. “Well… I… Thank you,” was all he could manage.

Dagda shook his head, that light smile still in place. “None needed. Now, what did you want to talk about?” He took a sip of his coffee, having forgone the usual nectar and cream. 

Sunny was once again struck by how strange it was to see him as he was, the king currently sitting in a very unkingly fashion, hunched over in the chair, elbows rested on his knees with his coffee held almost protectively close to his face – something he would _not_ have been able to do only three months ago with the giant belly in the way. _How did he even lose it that fast?_ _I mean, I know Dawn can eat like a horse, but she races around like one, too._ He then blinked and looked down, closing his lips in a tight line. _Enough about that now. I_ do _have something important to talk about, that’s why I’m here,_ he goaded himself. Taking a deep breath, Sunny sat up straight and fisted his hands in his lap. “Okay. So. Your majesty…” he glanced to Dagda. The king was giving him his full attention. Brow raised, but none-the-less watching him intently. Sunny took another breath to speak when a sudden observation derailed his thoughts. “Where’s your crown?” he blurted. 

Dagda blinked. He then sat up straight and lifted a hand to his forehead before looking back to his desk. “Eh…” a wary expression overcame him, “probably over there.”

“Huh,” Sunny shook his head. He was not sure he had ever actually seen the king without the crown atop his head. Despite how long it had taken him to notice, its absence it was now hard to ignore. _Same as the other changes,_ he thought distractedly.

“But I’m sure you didn’t come all this way and pace for twenty minutes outside just to make small talk,” Dagda then said, resuming his previous position to sip his coffee. He looked at Sunny expectantly.

Sunny swallowed his nerves again. “Right. No, that’s right.” He glanced away. “I, um… I’ve been wondering, kind of since you asked Dawn and I to scout the border for you… a-about… um.”

“Clasp your hands.”

Sunny’s soft brown eyes shot like lightning to bright emerald. “What?”

Dagda nodded, glancing to Sunny’s fists still balled in his lap. “Clasp your hands.”

Sunny looked down, as if seeing his own hands for the first time. “Uh… okay.” He did as told, interlacing his fingers and squeezing them tightly together. 

“Now sit up straight again and square your shoulders.” 

He again did as told, eyes still aimed at his lap. 

“Look at me.”

Sunny did so, having to put in a great effort not to bite his lip.

Dagda looked at him with that same intensity, coffee cup now balanced between his hands as he rested his forearms against his knees. “Now when you talk, if you aren’t sure what to say, don’t substitute with a noise like ‘um’ or ‘uh’, simply pause to give yourself a moment to gather your next words. Try to think of what you’ll say before you say it, that way you can avoid the pauses, but also to avoid any stuttering. Though, stuttering can be because of nervousness so that will take more time to condition.”

Sunny blinked. He then nodded slowly. “Y-yessir.” He winced.

Dagda smiled once more, a small, almost rueful smile. “You are a noble consort, Sunny. While between us etiquette doesn’t matter so much, you don’t want anyone on the outside looking in to think you aren’t up to the task.” He looked into his coffee cup. “If you have trouble talking to me alone in the privacy of the office, you can’t expect to perform any better in front of officials from other kingdoms.” He looked back up. “And I don’t want you to suffer that feeling.”

Sunny felt an immediate and unexpected welling of affection at Dagda’s words. “Thank you, your majesty,” he said softly. 

Dagda simply quirked that small smile a bit more, taking another sip of his coffee. “Now. What did you want to speak to me about?” he asked again, eyes on the dark liquid in his cup.

Sunny took a deep breath, nodding lightly. _Okay. Words,_ he thought to himself. “Okay,” he said aloud. “I… I wanted to talk about… the severity of the situation… Sir.” _Not bad, right?_

“In what regard?” Dagda asked without skipping a beat.

 _Okay, I didn’t think I’d get this far!_ Sunny took another deep breath, trying to maintain an outer calm to contrast his inner anxiety. “So… You’ve basically let us know that… you don’t know, for certain, what is going on in Misty Rivers.” 

“Yes,” Dagda affirmed.

“And we know now, for sure, that there is danger to Bog- the Bog King of the Dark Forest,” he said, wincing as he rushed the last words of his sentence.

“Yes, we do,” Dagda said with a nod.

“And all we can really be certain of… is that we _aren’t_ certain how dangerous the situation really is overall.” Sunny squeezed his hands tightly, feeling mild relief at the King’s mentioning of clasping them.

Dagda nodded once more. “That is correct.”

Sunny nodded as well. He took another deep breath. “So…” he glanced to the coffee table, eyes trailing the cups and implements as if they were foreign objects. “So, I… I have been thinking. Perhaps, I should tell the… spread the word.” He swallowed. “Perhaps I should spread word to the elves and brownies to… to prepare. Not for war! But, eh…” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment. “To be prepared for the possibility of a serious situation… maybe even dangerous.” He opened his eyes but did not look up. “I think, with the… uncertainty that we have right now that it would be best to have the villages on alert to every possibility.”

Silence met his words.

Sunny swallowed nervously once again and dared a glance up.

Dagda was staring into his coffee, seeming deep in contemplation. 

Sunny had to fight to keep from biting his lip. “I… I know it might be soo-“

“That is a fantastic idea, Sunny.”

“What?” Sunny stared wide-eyed.

Dagda sat up straight, resting his cup to his knee. “You beat me to it. We really don’t know what is going on and I don’t want anyone to be caught unawares. It’s been decades since we’ve had to worry about any conflict on our own soil, but that only means we’re potentially overdue.” He glanced to the side, his face taking on a more somber expression. “Even if it comes from the direction of an ally.”

Sunny squeezed his lips together at that. “I hope it’s not… not what we think.”

Dagda looked his way, quirking a rueful expression. “So do I.” He then stood, placing his coffee cup on the table. “But to your point, all we can do now is prepare.” He crossed his arms and started pacing. “Like you already mentioned, I don’t want you to say the word ‘war’ in any way. You want to make sure to let them know that we are only wanting to be cautious of potential danger, no matter what form it may take. Also,” he pointed to Sunny as he turned, “for the outlying villages and farms, and the cottages closer to the Misty Rivers border, if you would mention the importance of all of them keeping their eyes open and letting the patrols know of any strange activity or sightings. You can also let everyone know the patrol is going to be on a more frequent rotation. We’re going every thirty minutes instead of every hour, and we’re pairing them up instead of sending lone scouts.”

Sunny nodded, sitting up straighter. “Yessir.”

“And another thing,” Dagda paused for a moment, both in his words and movements. He stood still, eyes on the floor, wings twitching lightly as he rested the fingers of one hand to his beard.

Sunny waited patiently, but the look on the king’s face coupled with the sudden stop was not doing his anxiety any favors.

“Take Dawn with you, would you?”

He blinked in surprise. “Oh?” He managed, his voice moving faster than his brain.

“I think it would be good if you two did this together.”

“Ah… yeah, no that sounds great- I mean, not great- I mean- mmph.” Sunny slapped a hand to his face. Dagda’s warm chuckle helped ease the embarrassment. 

“And maybe after, you two can spend some time together at the stables. Try not to let this get too worrisome.”

Suspicion made its way into his mind and Sunny lowered his hand, looking to the king curiously. Dagda’s emerald eyes met his. A slight lowering of his head, a quirk of a silvery brow, and the meaning behind the words was confirmed.

The dragonfly stables his family owned were connected to the family home, built as an offshoot in more recent decades. His mother, father, brother and his wife, and two sisters and their spouses and all the kids lived there in the large, hollowed out oak stump and multi-level mushroom structure together. In other words, a lot of hearty, trustworthy people around. And he was well aware that his childhood home was one of those furthest south.

If anything _were_ to happen, he, Dawn and his family could make a quick getaway.

Quite suddenly, resolve welled into his tiny chest. Sunny wanted to be more involved, this was true. He did want to prove himself worthy, this was also true. But he was no fighter. He knew his limitations. And he knew Dawn’s as well. She was trying, she really was. But she was sweet, gentle, kind and loving. She had inherited most of her late mother’s characteristics, including being a near spitting image of the woman. That was not a bad thing. It was simply a fact. 

And Dagda had lost her once already.

He was painfully aware of those circumstances and how, being that he was sitting here having a face-to-face discussion with one of the two kings he had crossed like an idiot, the situation had resolved in the best way it could have. Clearly, this new situation was far more problematic, and Dagda was not about to take chances.

So, he would not either.

“Of course, your majesty,” he answered, his anxiety miraculously gone from his insides. “I think that would be a great idea. Dawn’s been kinda… well, fresh air would be good,” he said with a smile. 

Dagda nodded. “I’m sure it will be.”

“Are you going to be sending a guard, too?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Dagda answered, stepping to the table to pick his coffee back up. “Though, the patrol will be keeping their eyes alert for the two of you as they make their rounds.”

Sunny tilted his head as Dagda took a sip. _The two of us?_ He knew he was horrible with words, but King Dagda was not. As fast as his mind had gone to protecting Dawn, he suddenly felt a jarring realization hit him. But before he could say anything about it, Dagda beat him to it.

“Yes, Sunny, the both of you.”

He started lightly, though he was unsurprised that his thoughts were so externally obvious. However, the endearing expression that met his gaze when he refocused on the king _was_ a surprise.

“Stop undervaluing yourself, Sunny. You do yourself a great disservice, you know that?”

For a moment, he did nothing but stare, his eyes wide and impossibly round. When he felt the sting working its way around his eyelids, he was not sure if he wanted to hit himself or hide. Instead, he did neither, and when he felt the liquid escaping he lowered his head to bring his hands to his face. He heard the heavy steps of the older man closing the distance. He felt the warmth of the strong hand at his shoulder. 

“You’re doing good, my boy. You’re doing good,” Dagda whispered.

Sunny only nodded, not yet trusting his voice. 

He sat there, digging his butts of his hands in to his eyes, trying to somewhat elegantly wipe away his tears. While he knew he was failing, he was immensely grateful for the supportive pressure at his shoulder. 

“Thank you, Sir,” he managed, his hushed voice barely audible. A soft chuckle met his ears.

“No, Sunny. Thank _you_.”

**~*~**

“Mmmmm…”

“I know you’re capable of words.”

“Mmmm- don’t wanna.”

“Pff-“

“Ouch! Why’d ye do tha’?”

“Because you’re being silly.”

“What, I’m not allowed to be silly e’re now and then?” Bog questioned, grin adorning his face as he tilted his head to look up at Marianne.

She smiled from her vantage point above him, straddling his back as she was and massaging his neck and shoulders. It was entirely her idea, and while he had been a bit skittish of the thought at first, Marianne had been rather adamant. He thought perhaps some of it was her feeling guilty over what happened. He really was not about to blame her for it, though. He found it amusing really, now that it was all over.

He had woken from his blackout to a pleasant tingling coursing through his body. After a few moments he had determined it was somehow originating from his temples. While his eyes were still closed, he could feel that someone had their fingers pressed to the sides of his head. He remembered thinking it was Marianne, but at the same time thinking that did not seem right. While still not sure what to think, he had opened his eyes to see bright, green orbs framed in a statuesque face ringed in gold fringe.

Needless to say, the deeply worried expression Roland had worn had not stopped his instincts from jolting his body into action as he landed a fist to the blond’s cheekbone.

Despite the instant reaction, however, he had been hard pressed to do anything else. His body had been tight and achy, his back, wings and head sore from having hit the ground falling backwards away from Marianne. He had managed to lift himself up on one elbow, looking to see Marianne also on the ground resting in Chae’s arms, a cloak wrapped around her unconscious form. Roland, true to his need to talk while no one was listening, had actually managed to give _useful_ information while holding the side of his face.

Marianne had been surging mental energy through her body, mostly her arms and hands, in her attempt to use the scrying mirror. Whenever a fairy was in the process of manipulating anything physical with mental energy it was dangerous to make direct contact, meaning skin-to-skin contact. This was also true when a fae was trying to establish a mind-link with another, needing physical contact to make the connection – so long as it was a temporary mind-link anyway. Roland had shivered at that, refusing to go into further detail. He had continued on to say that Bog’s contact with Marianne had created a pathway for her energy to travel down, going directly into his body as a result. Bog, wholly unprepared for such a situation, regardless of heritage or mental capability, had suffered as expected.

As annoyed as he was to hear Roland’s voice, the explanation was more than appreciated. Though, he would never have admitted he had been going through great effort to keep from panicking at the sudden event.

Then Dagda had spoken up.

All three of them had managed a foot of air without flight, Marianne coming awake as Chae reflexively squeezed her in a protective embrace.

The older king had been none-too-pleased as he had looked through the scrying mirror at them, giving Marianne a distinctively stern look only a parent could give. He had gone on to confirm what Roland had said and had mentioned that Marianne should have given Bog ample warning not to touch her during her attempt. Marianne had managed a sheepish side-glance from her position still in Chae’s arms. 

After they had recovered enough to move from the floor, they had managed to relay to Dagda all they had determined thus far: They had yet to identify the culprits or find the missing forest folk, no attack had happened or been prevented from happening, and the strange circumstances of the forest and villages and the surrounding areas. Dagda had seemed most interested in the overall situation in the forest. He had asked several questions, all quickly answered thanks to Chae’s accumulated knowledge. He had fallen into thought at this, growing quiet for a time. While that had been worrisome on its own, it was his next series of questions that had brought about an odd chill to Bog’s insides.

Were _any_ animals present within the silent area, and if so, what kind? Were there any animal parts or bodies found within or near the silent area? Were there any strange smells, and if there were, could they be identified?

Bog had gone utterly still at the question of the smell, though, no one in the room seemed to have noticed, Chae herself simply continuing to answer the questions. Then, Dagda had looked right at him.

“What is it, Bog?”

No pretense, no deflection, no easing into it. Dagda had been straight and to the point, evidently seeing right through Bog’s clearly forced mask of stoicism. While he had been hesitant, he had finally decided it best to mention Plum’s words to him. 

He had felt the apprehension radiate from the others in the room at the mention of black magick. And Dagda’s reaction had not eased his mind any. Once again, the older king had gone quiet. He had remained so just long enough for Bog’s nerves to start splitting.

“I need to look into some things.”

With that, emerald eyes had leveled an unquestionable gaze to the room. “Make sure to keep your patrols on high alert. Have them tell you of _any_ change at all that they notice and please let me know as well. Also,” Dagda’s expression had taken on a strange edge at that moment, “ _please_ wait to leave the castle, no matter the reason, until I get back to you on this.” 

Bog had stared down his peer and had wanted oh-so-badly to launch all of his now burning questions at the older king. But something in those eyes stopped him. He had not been able to identify the expression on Dagda’s face or the feeling it created in his chest. But whatever it was, it had stayed his words. So, he had simply nodded, knowing the moments he had taken before doing so had stretched too long to be comfortable.

Dagda had nodded back in response. “I’ll contact you as soon as I can.”

_You mean as soon as you confirm your suspicion._

He remembered having that thought, and the cold it had brought to his bones. He had hoped then and still hoped now that whatever Dagda feared was going on in his forest was just that: a fear.

And nothing more.

“You alright down there?”

He felt a smile crack his lips at Marianne’s playful tone. The distraction was more than welcome. “Mmmm, just enjoying the treatment,” he rumbled. He smiled wider as he felt her giggle above him, her nimble, strong fingers still working their magic at the plates of his shoulders and neck. “When did you learn to do this?”

“Hmmm… just now.” Marianne answered, letting out another flighty laugh. “I’m kinda just going off instinct.”

Bog raised a brow and tilted his head to get a better view of her, seeing her sheepish smile. “Well, ye’re instincts are clearly fine-tuned,” he complimented, a snarky grin escaping.

Marianne smirked and squeezed a smidge tighter at his neck, prompting a yelp and a twitch.

“Careful there, tough girl,” he nearly purred, preening at the warm expression gracing her face. He settled down for a moment, just looking at her. The amber lanterns hung about his private chambers always cast a homey, comforting glow in the evening hours, but somehow the light seemed to illuminate Marianne’s skin and eyes as if moonlight gracing a pool of water. Her own amber eyes were sparkling as if possessing their own light, beautifully accentuated by the dark plum of her face paint and dark brown, honey-streaked hair. Quite suddenly, his mind dredged up memories of only two nights ago, her face flushed with that reddish color, her skin slicked with sweat, the heat emanating from her form under that stifling dress… the feel of her under his fingertips.

He swallowed hard and clenched his teeth, looking away as he tried to keep form tensing up under her touch. 

“I’m trying very hard actually,” Marianne said with a smile in her voice.

 _Oh, your try is working_ , Bog thought, starting to question the decision to allow her to crawl onto his back and do this. To her merit, though, she had managed to keep her fingers from wandering any lower than his shoulder plates where they bridged his neck and shoulder spurs. She had even been careful not to actually sit on him, keeping herself mostly suspended above his back with her legs. _Oh_ , Bog abruptly shifted to look at one of the aforementioned limbs. “Love, perhaps you should take a break,” he suggested.

“Why?”

“You’ve been holding yourself up like that for a while now,” he said simply.

“Oh.”

It was nearly comical to see Marianne look down at her own legs as if having forgotten them. He let out a smirk when she looked back at him and could not keep a grin away as she smirked back and swatted at his shoulder. 

“Fine,” she huffed dramatically, rising up to lift one leg over him. 

He obliged her transit by lifting his two left wings, allowing her to scoot to the side away from him on the soft moss and oak leaf padding of his bed. The glance to his erect wings and slight tinge of color to her cheeks did not escape him, however. Confusion trickled in as he lowered his wings back. He watched her lay down on her stomach beside him, crossing her arms under her chin to mimic him. Another memory from only days ago poked at his mind. “Do you not like it when I move my wings so deliberately?” he asked.

“What?” Marianne raised her head in a jolt, her own wings twitching where they lay draped over her form. “Why would you say that?”

He rested his cheek to his forearm, the hollow under his cheekbone fitting perfectly to the rough ridges of his arm scales. “I seem to remember three days ago now when you became rather riled when I stretched at the dragonfly stables. And just now you seem a bit… embarrassed?” he glanced away, quite sure _embarrassed_ was hardly the right word for her expression.

Marianne’s eyes went wide and that beautiful reddish color started to stain her cheeks. She then smiled timidly, looking away, resting her lips on her armguard. “Bog…” She closed her eyes and shook her head, that smile growing. “I knew it.”

He blinked. “Knew what?”

“I knew you weren’t doing it on purpose.”

He stared. “Doing what on purpose?”

Marianne giggled, turning to face him again, arranging her arm to allow for resting her head in the crook of her elbow. “We fairies have a thing for wings. You know,” she shrugged her free shoulder with a smirk, “since we all have them.”

He blinked slowly, trying to make sure he was following. “Soooo, are you talking about wingspeak, then?”

Marianne closed her eyes, looking to have trouble restraining laughter. “Bog, do you really not know about ‘displaying’?” she asked in disbelief.

His brows drew down as he continued to look at her. “Displaying… as in putting on a display? Showing off?”

“Exactly,” Marianne said with a nod. “Only, with your wings.”

Bog took a deep breath and huffed it out. “Well, eh,” he glanced to the mossy pillow just above him on the bed. “No, I guess not.”

At this Marianne’s expression became more serious. “How- I mean, I guess,” she glanced away, chewing on her lip as if trying to find the right words. “I… you weren’t the-“

“If you’re talking about interactions with other halfbloods, that’s what I mean when I say wingspeak.”

She looked back to him with a start. “Oh?”

Bog let out a small smile, warmed by her effort to try to be considerate. But this was simple enough. “Wingspeak is how our wing movements can be interpreted. What we’re saying without saying anything.”

Marianne squinted her eyes, rolling a thumb over the fluffy moss under her hand. “So, you have the same concept of understanding wing movements like we do, and yet you don’t have anything that can be interpreted as romantic?”

He had to pause at that juncture. He pried into his memories, trying to determine if there was in fact some sort of wing placement that could be considered provocative. He found none. Not even from his memories with- _wait._ “Well…”

“Well?” Marianne looked at him wide-eyed and curious.

Bog swallowed, not only at her attention but the imagery dredging back to the surface. “There is something. But it likely won’t have the same effect on you as it might on, well, a halfblood or goblin, I suppose.”

Marianne rose up slightly, propping herself up on her elbows. “Would you- I mean,” she glanced away, that timid smile returning to her face, “would it be alright if… I saw?” she looked back hesitantly.

He swallowed again. “I eh, Yeah. Yes.” Nerves came crashing in like a thunderstorm and he had to work hard to keep a tremor from his limbs as he rose to his knees. _Why_ he was so nervous about this, he was unsure. However, considering the last time his wings had ever moved this way… Bog shook his head. He took a deep breath, looking away pointedly. He thought back to the sensations, both physical and mental, that would always permeate his body at those times. The ghost of a feeling, a tingling, fluttered into his wing bases, down his spine, and along his costals. He bit the inside of his lip as his mind brought up unbidden the memory of particular touches, of claws and rough skin, soft lips and sharp teeth.

Of wings that glinted as his own.

His breath left him in a shaky sigh as the shiver started up, his back scales raising similarly to how his shoulder spurs did at his normal conscious commands. The tremor ricocheted up his wing bases and he felt the shudder move all the way down to the tips of his costals, all four wings vibrating as he allowed them to rise behind him. Though, he held them from rising all the way up, keeping them from standing center of his back. It was subtle, compared to what he had experienced before.

But it was enough.

He let out another shaky breath as he cracked his neck, looking to Marianne in the process. His fingers twitched, claws clicking his thigh plates from where his hands had rested useless at his sides. Marianne, his fisty princess, was staring at his wings, eyes wide, lips parted ever-so-slightly, skin flushed that lovely color. Her eyes darted to his.

 _Well, this was a dangerous idea,_ Bog thought. He clenched his right fist tightly, taking advantage of its position around his body out of her sight. He held her gaze as he leaned forward, crawling back to his stomach, wings rigid behind him, his backbone and costals tingling with leftover sensation. “Not quite what you expected?” he asked, trying to keep a purr from his voice and a smirk from his lips, his playfulness trying to get the better of him.

Marianne let out a breath of a laugh, sinking further into the cushy moss. “Not quite,” she mimicked. “But I like what I saw,” she added, looking to him with heavily lidded eyes.

 _Oooh, don’t do that_ , he thought, sheer will keeping him from biting his lip. “Is that so?” he came back instead. She gave him a look, a rather playful expression. He laughed, the sound rumbling out with a hint of a purr. He took a deep breath as he looked to the moss, trying to relax himself. _Look at me, getting all worked up so fast,_ he mused. 

“So, you said before you’ve been with others.”

That killed his ire. Bog looked back to see Marianne looking at the moss, playing with some of the spongy material between her fingers. He waited, curiosity forcing patience for her next words.

“Is that how you learned that?” she asked, looking up to him. 

He looked to her fingers at the moss, taking a moment to consider the question. He leaned his cheek along his arm again, examining her fingers that she continued to move gently. “I learned a lot of things from them.” He knew the statement was cryptic. But it was also the simplest aside from saying “yes.”

“Do you mind if I ask how many? Before me?”

The question was slow and careful, as if Marianne were afraid of crossing some invisible boundary line. As fiery as she could be, her consideration was another of the things he loved about her. 

“Three.”

“Oh.”

He could hear the mix of emotions in her voice and looked to see her still staring at the moss. He allowed a ghost of a smile, breathing in only to breathe out in a soft but distinct purr. Her eyes shot to his and he just barely inclined his head. “Ye can ask whatever ye like, love,” he whispered. “If I don’t want to answer, I won’t.”

She gave a small smile that matched his own and leaned her head downward, resting it against her arms to gaze at him. “Okay,” she said softly. “So… what was it like?”

A breath of a laugh escaped him at that. “What a place to start.” She bit her lip, clearly biting back a giggle. He let his gaze drift, the dark wood of his chamber walls filling his vision as he allowed his memories to drift up from the deep of his mind. “I suppose I aught to start at the beginning, eh?” 

“Or wherever you like. I’ll be here either way.”

His smile became more pronounced at the sincerity in her words. “Well. I suppose I’ll start by saying that I wish I could say they were my first loves. But it doesn’t quite work that way here. For goblins.” He glanced down to see her looking at him, rapt with attention. “See, when we come of appropriate age, our bodies, those urges I mentioned… they have a tendency to take over.” At her scrunching brows he let out a laugh, not mirthful, but hardly rueful. “It is hard to fight. These urges. When they first roar out of the depths. It feels like fighting nature itself.” He looked to his own hand, close to hers. His large, gnarled fingers and long claws. “It feels like fighting a beast that will either drag you into oblivion… or give you the entirety of the world.” He ran his thumb over his own finger, remembering how his claws had marked. How other claws had marked him. “Eventually, through years and experience, we learn to dance with this beast. Train it. Contain it. But we are never rid of it. If anything, it grows stronger,” he whispered. “My… my first,” a true smile of amusement came to him, “you’ve met her.”

“What!?” Marianne shot up to her elbows, looking down to him with unabashed shock. 

Bog could not help flicking a brow, his smirk coloring his face. “She’s actually Brutus’ cousin, Bokah. You’ve seen her and Bone, her brother, with Brutus while they’re on patrol.” 

Realization spread across Marianne’s face. “Oh. I had no idea.”

Bog would have shrugged, but his expression said it all as Marianne seemed to calm. “No reason you would have.”

Marianne sunk back into the moss, eyes wandering. “It isn’t… awkward?”

This time he did shift his shoulder slightly. “No reason it should be. We suffered our urges no different than any else in the forest. It was even expected, really. We were the best of friends growing up. Sparring partners too, as she was one of the few that could keep up with me. So, when I was just about seventeen, she having just rolled into sixteen, we started to feel strange things. Smell strange things. _Want_ strange things.” His vision became marred with the recollections of those times flashing behind his open eyes. “Our bodies were growing stronger, our fights getting fiercer. Her scent changed, became sweeter, somehow. And the way she would look at me made something push at my chest and claw under my skin, something far more assertive than I had ever felt before in my life.

“And, well, one day the inevitable happened. We were sparring on our own, which we had done for years at that point, and our strikes and swings turned into clawing and biting. The clawing and biting turned into rolling around on the ground in some strange wrestling match where we were still clawing and biting but… with other things happening as well.” He looked and had to close his lips tight to keep from laughing aloud at Marianne’s face.

She looked downright mortified. “In the training ring!?” she blurted.

Once again, the inevitable happened and a grin broke onto his face. “Yeah,” he answered with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

“Oh, my heavens!” Marianne moved her arms to bury her face in the moss. “Did anyone catch you?” came her muffled question.

“Oh, yes!” Bog outright laughed when she whipped her head up in horror. “Ye din’ think they’d be hear’n all tha’ and naw check eventually?”

“Ohmegosh,” Marianne buried her face again, but not before he caught sight of her own grin. 

“Yep, t’was a horrible day when me head cleared enough to realize what’d happened! Right a’the moment, though, we both were too far gone to care when our das burst in to pull us apart.”

“Both of them! Oh, great heavens,” she groaned. 

Bog shook his head in amusement as much as he could against his arms. “Well, they were expecting it.”

“They were?”

“Yeah. It’s common, perhaps too common,” he glanced to the side, “for young warriors who spar together growing up to be each other’s firsts.”

“Really?” she raised her head, looking at him curiously.

He raised a brow and nodded. “Mhm. They’d been waiting for it for weeks by the time it actually happened.”

“So, they weren’t angry?” She tilted her head.

“Nope.” He let out a snicker. “They did tell us to find a more private location next time, though.”

She closed her lips tight, biting back laughter. “Okay. So, they were alright with it?”

Once again, Bog lifted a shoulder. “Better than coming to age with a stranger. Though, the Boe-Tuun family and mine have been on good terms for a long time, so that certainly helped. In fact, they had thought perhaps Bokah and I would bond. But, obviously, that didn’t happen.”

“But, you’re friends? And- well, _that_ happened. That seems like, you know, a pretty good bond.”

He looked at her in confusion for a moment before he realized the slipup. “Ah, no, love. Bond as in marriage.”

Marianne’s expression blanked at that. She looked away, a slow nod tilting her head. “Oh. I see.”

He waited.

“Why didn’t you marry, then?”

He took a deep breath, eyes drifting as he pondered the answer. It was simple enough. “We weren’t in love.” He looked to see the curiosity in Marianne’s gaze. “We were- still are, good friends. We grew up together. We spent so much time with each other. But, in the end, that is all we are. Just friends. We both knew, even in the heat of the moment, that we didn’t want to bond. Not with each other.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know what it felt like to have a long-time friend?” Marianne asked suddenly with mock suspicion.

He chuckled at that. “Not like your father and Onyx. Bokah and I… we are still friends. But our childhood friendship didn’t become anything greater than kinship. Still strong, and she still would fight to the death on my behalf as I would for any of my people. But I can already tell our relationship is nothing compared to that of the Kings of Fire and Ice,” he said with a wink. 

Marianne smirked and kicked at his leg. “Fair enough,” she conceded. “So,” she recrossed her arms, gaze darting away, “what about number two?”

“Hmmmmm,” he looked to the ceiling playfully, “number two, eh? Heh,” he rattled his wings lightly. “That… could have gone better, I suppose.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm. Arrah was a lovely, young undine. She had come to serve in the castle around the time I was eighteen.” Bog bit the inside of his lip. “Something about her caught my attention immediately. Whether it was her scent, or her eyes, the glint of her skin, the grace of her movements… I don’t really know, honestly. Maybe it was all of it together.” He stared blankly at the wall, an image of the young beauty floating into his mind as if he had only looked upon her yesterday. “She was about seventeen. And was rather a late bloomer to her own beast. I tried to avoid her,” he glanced to his pillow, a pang of regret working into his chest. “I knew I couldn’t trust myself. But, of course, the one thing you’d rather avoid becomes the thing you can’t avoid.”

“You didn’t…”

He looked to see Marianne eyeing him with concern. He smiled softly. “I didn’t do anything truly out of line, no. As it turns out, she was so very close to her own urges besting her, right on her own edge if you will. And my presence seemed to be the pebble that toppled the dam.” He looked away again, eyeing his claws. He tightened and loosed his fist, remembering what the girl’s smooth undine skin had felt like under his touch. “We had ended up in one of the hollows together, an archive room, like your library. She was blocking the doorway, and I was unable to speak words with her in the room so close to me. That was when she brought up, quite at random, how I looked at her. How my gaze made her feel.” He took a deep breath. “And well, that was that.”

“You’re serious?” 

He chuckled at Marianne’s tone. “Yeah, unfortunately so. But it wasn’t a horrible experience, I guess. When she recovered from her burn, which lucky for her was only a month, she told me how she wanted to go back to being untied.” Silence rained for a moment too long and he looked to see Marianne staring blankly. He grinned. “Whoops.”

“Yeah, ‘whoops’,” Marianne chided with her own smile. “What did you just say?” she said, letting out a laugh.

Bog readjusted his arms and stretched lightly, crossing one leg backwards over the other. “Oooh, lets see. So, starting with ‘burn.’ The burn is when your urges break forth for the first time. It’s that first overwhelming flood that can barely be fought back, let alone contained. My burn was with Bokah who had her burn at the same time.” He looked back to Marianne, seeing her nod, understanding blooming across her face. “Since I’d already been through my burn, my urges weren’t quite as uncontrollable, just… extremely unruly and unpleasant to deal with,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Arrah, however. She was right at the point of her burn. Being near me, even as much as I tried to avoid her, she could smell-“ he stopped short, his cheeks growing hot. 

“Smell what?”

Marianne’s innocence of the subject did not help his embarrassment. “Em. Heh,” he lifted his hand to run nervous fingers over his head scales. “She could smell my um… my scent.” He ventured a glance and had to work hard to keep from cringing at Marianne’s confusion. “So, we can smell it… you know. Goblins can smell… um… when you… we… when-“

“Oh. Oh!”

He looked away quickly, as if the carved, wooden headboard of his bed was suddenly foreign to him with the engravings in need of investigation. “Yes, heh. So, she could smell that, and it rather worked to incite _her_ burn, you see.” He glanced to see Marianne looking at him with large, clear eyes, her cheeks lightly flushed as she rested her lips to her arm. Looking away again he nuzzled his chin into his mossy blanket. “As for the ‘untied’ part, that refers to when you are _with_ someone but not bonded- er, married. You are ‘tied’ to someone when you are, eh, um,” he bit his lip. “Well, you and I, for example,” he lifted his hand from his head to gesture between them, “we would be _tied_ to one another, but not yet bonded. If we were to end our relationship in the romantic aspect, then we would be agreeing to become _untied_ from one another,” he finished, halfway shrugging as best he could.

Marianne nodded slowly. “I see,” she said thoughtfully. “So, you and Arrah were only _tied_ to each other for a month?”

Bog nearly sighed in relief at her quick pickup. “Yes,” he nodded, “about a month. No longer than it took her burn to die down.”

“And what about you and Bokah?”

He looked to the side at that question. “Almost three months. My burn started to die down first, but hers was still, eh, infectious, in a manner of speaking.” He could not help a bashful smile at that.

Marianne smirked in response. “And you both just agreed once it died down that you weren’t gonna keep it up?”

“Eh, kinda,” he answered, not quite sure how to phrase it. “It was just something we knew. We knew it wasn’t going to last so when the urges became manageable it just didn’t continue.”

Marianne nodded again. “So, are you and Arrah still friends, too?”

He went quiet at that, looking at the blanket, but not seeing it. “We might have been.” Silence came at his words. He kept his eyes poised, trying to keep his mind clear.

“I see. So, what about number three?”

He let out a huff of a laugh. _Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to go down this avenue._ He then took a deep breath, resigning himself to follow Marianne’s attempted diversion. “Number three. Heh,” he felt a smile crack his lips. He was unsure if appearances would convey the mix of emotions that welled in him when thinking of her. But he supposed it did not matter, as the mishmash was about to be out in the open soon enough. “Number three,” he said again. He brought his hand up again, running his fingers into his eyes before dragging his hand over his brow. “It… it’s hard to explain. Eida and I,” he shook his head. “For starters, she was a halfblood like me.”

“Oh? That must have been… well-“

“Different,” Bog said for her, looking to see Marianne’s raised brow. “Different from what I had experienced previously, anyway.”

“Why didn’t you- I mean,” Marianne rose up on her elbows, confusion creasing her brows, “were there not many halfbloods around when you were growing up?”

“Of course there were,” Bog said, raising up on his own elbows and turning, adjusting his position. He sat and leaned back on his hands, splaying his wings out behind him and stretching his legs out in front of him. “There were plenty of others around, several serving in the castle. Just none that I had managed to become close to. Then she came along.” He looked down as he crossed his left leg over his right. His eyes easily spied the thin lines along his hide and chitin that blended in with the other scars marking his body. _Scars of a different kind,_ he thought absently. “She wasn’t associated with her clan any longer, having left them long before I met her. She was part of a band of merchants that left the safety of the forest to explore other lands and kingdoms and bring back wares from afar. That was their official stance anyway,” he said with a shrug and a half-smile. “No one could confirm they didn’t acquire their goods through less reputable means.”

“That didn’t seem to bother you much?” Marianne said, smirk lacing her voice.

He chuckled. “No, but it bothered everyone else.”

“I suppose that makes sense. If the crown prince starts courting a possible criminal, what kind of mess could that make?” she joked.

He grinned at that. He then shook his head. “See, that’s where the hard part comes in.” He bit his lip. “Our whole relationship was questionable, and questioned, from the start.” He heard Marianne shift and could practically feel the head-tilt.

“How so?”

He sighed. “Mmm. To start off with, mostly everyone was uncomfortable with the fact that I had only just reached twenty years of age and she was well into her seventies.”

“WHAT!?” Marianne jolted up with a start. He looked just as she leaned over closer to him, bringing her knees up underneath her. “You can’t be serious?” she asked skeptically.

He nodded with a smirk. “Oh yes. She was seventy-seven when we first met.”

“And no one said anything about it?”

“Oh, plenty of people had plenty to say, I assure you,” he responded in amusement. “Da especially was none-too-pleased.”

“Then, why did they let it happen?”

At this, Bog looked to the ceiling of his chamber, eyes catching the amber of one of the lanterns. “Because I told them it was what I wanted.” He knew his words had been too soft. His tone not quite convincing enough.

“Was it what you wanted?”

Bog continued to stare at the lantern, memories of those orangey, red flecked eyes set in coal-colored lids that faded to dark grey skin materializing to stare back at him. He took a slow, deep breath. “You know. After all these years, I still don’t know.” Marianne was quiet at his side, showing her own silent patience. He let out a laugh. “It was strange. The relationship we had. When their band showed up to the castle during that summer festival, I saw Eida, and she saw me. And,” he looked down, picking out the small marks of a crescent moon scar on his upper thigh that were so faded they nearly blended in with his hide, “It was like I was prey, looking into the eyes of a predator. But… I wasn’t afraid, I wasn’t even insulted, I wasn’t… what I should have probably been.” More memories flooded back, spilling into his mind after years locked away. “I was excited.”

“Something exciting and new.”

He glanced to the far side of the room at that. “Yeah.”

“And you wanted it, even if you weren’t sure that you should.”

Slowly, his eyes drifted back to Marianne’s. She was resting on her arm, leaning close to him, her legs folded underneath her and gazing at him with understanding. A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Yeah. So, Eida pursued me. And I,” his vision lost focus as he gripped the moss blanket underneath him, “I let her. From the very first time, when she followed me away from the festival and cornered me at one of the saplings on the edge of the creek, to any of the other times, like three months later hidden away in one of the castle hollows,” he let out a laugh, “even boldly inviting me into her own carriage to ‘see something shiny’, heh. Each time, I could have run away, gotten away or put up an actual fight. But I didn’t.” 

“Was it,” Marianne hesitated, prompting him to refocus on her, seeing concern, “was it violent?”

He looked down at that, eyeing the individual strands of the spongy moss. “Not violent. But certainly aggressive. More so than I’d experienced before.” He leaned forward, raising his left leg up for Marianne to see. He did not look at her as he ran his own fingers over particular marks, long slim lines trailing the length of his thigh, ridges etched out of the chitin overlaying the top of his leg. Eventually, he made to the crescent moon marks and he heard Marianne’s breath halt. He could not help a smile. “Like I said, love. It is quite normal to bite and claw… to mark and scar. These certainly aren’t all she left on me. And I’m guilty of leaving my own on her, as after a while, she wasn’t the only one doing the preying.”

It remained quiet for a moment. “Three months, huh?” Marianne ventured.

“Mhm. Eida and I… I don’t really know if one could say we were _really_ tied to each other. It was never accepted, not quite normal, and it wasn’t continuous due to her long trips away from the forest, though it seemed she spent an awful lot more time at home after things between us started up.” He leaned back on his arms again, though left his leg propped up, still looking at the aged scars. “But, if we go by simple passage of time, then we had… whatever we had, for almost two whole years.”

“Two years?” 

“Yeah,” he all but breathed. He let out another laugh, closing his eyes. “It really is funny, with how much my Da hated her, how much mam was uncomfortable with her, that it lasted so long.”

“Griselda! Was uncomfortable? You’re joking?”

He let out another almost giggle and grinned. “Oh yes. Her baby boy involved with this questionable woman who wouldn’t even allow a charge? She was quite irked.”

“Wait-what?”

His smile dropped at that and he opened his eyes. He did not look at Marianne, but he knew it hardly mattered. The sadness had flared up unannounced and he could feel it in his core. “A charge. A child.” He heaved a sigh. “If two are tied to each other for any good length of time, it is common that they might produce a child. If the child is produced before they are officially bonded to each other, the child is called their charge.”

“And she wouldn’t?”

He remained quiet for a moment. “She may have.” He looked to see Marianne watching him, waiting patiently, clearly unsure what he meant. He gave a rueful smile. “She was barren,” he said softly as Marianne’s eyes widened. “She let everyone believe what they would. Say what they would. But she finally told me, after more than a year.” He looked back to his leg. “At this point, we were… calming down, in our ire. We spent more time talking than, heh, you know,” he shrugged. “And… I had sensed something was on her mind for a while, a good few months. But I had learned not to ask too much more than she volunteered, as she was rather secretive of certain things, usually facts about herself. And one night, looking at the stars through the treetops, laying in the moonflower meadow, she told me.” He swallowed hard, his throat growing tight. “She said she wasn’t so inconsiderate of me that she was purposefully keeping away at times when it would be likely she would conceive, which I would have had trouble believing anyway,” he added with a small huff of a laugh, “but that she simply… couldn’t.”

“That must have been hard for her.”

He bit the inside of his lip. Oh, he loved Marianne, so much. After everything he had just told her, to feel sympathy so quickly for someone that he had seen most people be so judgmental of. While he instantly realized perhaps it was his own emotions so plainly on display, he also knew so well how compassionate Marianne was towards others. “It… was very hard for her. That was the only time, and I mean the _only_ time, I had ever seen her close to tears,” he said, his voice thick with tightly held emotion. He remembered leaning over her, seeing those fiery eyes glistening in the moonlight. How he had comforted her that night, in more ways than one. How he had marked her blatantly on her neck for all to see, in a form of solidarity. “In the end,” he continued, “it was not something that I was worried over. Because I came to appreciate the time I had with her, regardless. As that time went on, we talked. And she became more of a confidant then anything. When I took the mantle of kingship, she had been surprisingly keen with her advice to me. She was, strangely, the best person to rant to, vent my frustrations to. She would listen patiently, shout obscenities for me when I needed them, give me wise words when I needed those more.” He shook his head. “Despite her hardness, her anger, her aggression towards others, she was… caring. She just didn’t show that to everyone. I was one of the few that got to see it. And that was a secret I kept for her,” he said with a laugh.

“So… why did…”

He lifted his left arm up to rest his wrist on his knee, still propped up. He looked at his hand, running his thumb claw over the claws of his other fingers. “We weren’t _in love_ ,” he answered her incomplete question. “What we had was… interesting. It was something different. Something new. Something that I learned a lot from. But, while I know we had a certain amount of affection that grew over time… we… we were never in love,” he finished in a whisper. “We didn’t even really need to have a discussion about being untied. Not that we had one to _become_ tied either. It was just… something we knew.”

It was quiet for a moment, and he listened as Marianne moved her free hand along the blanket. “So when… when you met-“

“Immah.” The name fell from his lips like a rock. “I met Immah. And my heart lit on fire,” he breathed. “I had never felt anything like that before, ever. Not with anyone. Not even with Eida.” He closed his eyes. “I went to her… to Eida. Asking her what this fever was that didn’t seem real but wouldn’t go away, why it got worse when thinking about this girl.” He let out a laugh, distinctly without mirth. “She had smiled at me, so proud… she said, ‘That’s love, blue! Now you gotta go show it to her.’” He shook his head. “I remember so clearly… how… h-happy… she…” 

Memories he normally kept contained in the depths of his mind started clawing viciously to the surface. He felt the hot streams along his cheeks before he could even reach to his eyes as flashes of fire and blood and screaming faces assaulted him. Her eyes looked back at him from behind his closed lids; those orange eyes flecked with red, imploring him to hurry as the fire behind her made them glow with their urgency. 

Suddenly, his face was framed with soft fingers instead of clawed hands and impossibly warm, velvety lips were on his own. What had provoked this propensity of Marianne’s to comfort him with contact he had no idea, but right that moment, he did not care. He raised his arms, leaning into her as he wrapped one around her middle and tangled his fingers into her wild hair. She pushed and he was on his back, wings splayed out across the bed as she straddled him. 

Whether it was moments, minutes, or longer, he had no clue. He simply allowed himself to get lost in those persistent lips and relentless touches.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suspicions and doubts and giggling bouts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.  
> I only claim the storyline and OCs.  
> TRIGGER WARNING: Reflecting on attempted suicide and suicidal thoughts.

The sounds of boot heels hitting rock echoed off the walls as the Green Meadows guard escorted the Misty Rivers crown prince. Cole was hardly surprised. In fact, he had been expecting this to happen sooner. 

Dagda was requesting his presence. 

He was undoubtedly going to interrogate him, in the kindest sense of the act. Likely was going to try to approach him as the concerned family friend-almost uncle, that he was and plead with him to spill his heart about what was going on.

It would not work.

That was what he kept telling himself anyway, expression schooled into a stoic mask, obediently following the path to Dagda’s private office. _He doesn’t need to know. Not yet. He’s been through his own hell. He can wait this out, no matter his worry._

_But did you see him?_

Memory of the older king, standing in front of the door to the guest chambers, looking damnear recovered to past form, wafted behind his open eyes. _And? He’s doing better for himself. That’s good. All the better for when we_ do _need his assistance,_ he told himself. _He’ll be ready._ Cole could not help a minute smirk. _He was already gnawing at the bit as it was._ He once again relished the exchange between Dagda and Cerian, far more delighted than the older king would ever know that he had spoken down so eloquently to that dog of a man. _Oh yes, he’ll be ready. He’ll just have to show a little patience._

Cole took a deep breath as the neared the door, dropping his face back into its mask. He glanced to see Rex looking directly at him. He inclined his head, never leaving eye-contact. “Good day, Rex. I do hope the day fares you well,” he said amiably.

Rex nodded at the address, his own face expressionless. “Well enough, your highness.” With that, Rex remained motionless, simply staring. The members of the guard remained motionless as well, waiting. 

Cole never broke their gaze, though he found it amusing that Rex was being so blatant. _Dagda looking through his eyes no doubt,_ he mused. No sooner had the thought occurred to him did Rex look away, nodding to the guards.

“You’re staying out here with me. Stand aside.”

He raised a brow at that. He had not expected Dagda would want to speak one-on-one with him. 

The Green Meadows guard did as ordered, and Rex opened the door, stepping to the side as he nodded his head. “Your highness.”

Cole nodded back. “Captain.” He wasted no more time, breaching the doorway to the office. The first thing that caught his attention was how chilled it seemed to be in the room, eyes darting to the unlit fireplace. The Green Meadows castle was similar to the mountain monolith that was his own home, the internal rock structures providing cooler air in the summer and warmer air in the winter. Though, Dagda usually kept his fireplace going like a bad habit, so to see it dark and cold was somewhat of a surprise. When his eyes darted to the head of the room, however, was when real surprise shimmied down his neck.

Dagda was leaning against his desk, arms crossed as he stared at him, books, scrolls and paperwork piled up behind him to stifle what little light emanated from the waning daylight and the wall sconces mounted at the window frame in the wall. As the door to the office shut quietly, Cole managed a slight rustle of his wings as he took in the imposing sight of the older king backlit and glaring. Not quite what he had expected, if he were honest with himself. But then again, he had grown rather accustomed to the shell of a man the King of Fire had become.

_Good to see how far back you’ve come, Uncle._

_But…_

“Hello, Cole.”

He inclined his head. “Your majesty,” he said amiably, clasping his hands behind his back. “How fares the evening for you so far?”

Dagda was quiet a moment. “Could be better,” he answered simply. 

A slight twitch of his brow escaped his control. “So it seems,” he responded, glancing to the documents on the desk top.

“Cole. Enough is enough.”

He froze, even the air halting in his lungs. _Is that so, Uncle?_ He tilted his head. “Oh?” He returned his crystalline gaze to the burning emeralds of the other, forcing a breath through his nose. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Dagda asserted, standing from his leaning position but remaining stationary. “I know you haven’t been forthcoming, both in writing for your father and in things you’ve spoken to me.” Dagda’s stern gaze softened a fraction. “Cole. What is going on?”

 _Well, now. What do you really know, I wonder, that you have to ask at all?_ Cole took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Uncle,” he lied smoothly. 

Dagda was not so easily convinced, it seemed. “Don’t, Cole. Your discussion with the Bog King, the missing information in the letters, avoiding the subject of your father, and now this attempt on the Dark Forest.” Dagda shook his head. “Just tell me what’s going on, Cole. I can’t help if I don’t know.”

 _Of course, he told him._ Cole worked to keep his face smooth, barely a hitch of a movement escaping his control. _No matter. Clearly, he hasn’t picked up on the importance of it, else he wouldn’t be asking._ “I don’t know what you expect, King Dagda,” he said. “I am just as confused as you are by all this.”

Dagda narrowed his eyes.

 _Really? You would throw your suspicion at me?_ Incredulity colored his thoughts and Cole tilted his head. 

“Cole, what’s happened to your father?”

He remained motionless for a moment, refusing to break the older king’s gaze. He straightened, squaring his shoulders. “My-” His voice fell short.

 _My father…_ The words rolled around in his head, wafting around like smoke in a breeze. _Now_ that _is interesting. If the Kings of Fire and Ice are so close that he thinks he knows something is so wrong, then why would he…_

_Well, well. What do we have here? So omniscient you like to act, old Dagda. And yet, you are so clearly blind._

“Cole?” 

He blinked and noticed Dagda’s mask of suspicion had cracked, concern melting through his expression. 

_How insulting._

He heaved a sigh, clenching his fists where they rested behind his back. “My father is just fine, your majesty. As I said, he is simply attending to a border dispute. Nothing nearly as problematic as the situation we seem to have at present.”

Dagda reacted as expected, his mask hardening, that concern slipping away. 

_What do you know now, eh?_

“Are you really doing this, Cole? Are you really going to keep me in the dark?”

 _Clearly._ “I don’t know what you’re talking about, your majesty,” Cole answered, voice velvety as he retained a pleasant expression. 

There were a few moments of silence, the air between them heavy with unspoken words. Finally, Dagda nodded, the office door opening right on que. “Then you may go, Prince Cole,” he older king said tightly.

Cole inclined his head. “As you wish, King Dagda.” He said nothing more as he turned on his heel, fists still clenched behind him as he walked back to the waiting castle guard. 

_‘How pathetic,’_ Ta’Kheta chimed melodically out of the reaches of their link.

 _‘It’s fine. All in due time,’_ Cole asserted. _‘He’ll come around.’_

 _‘You think?’_ Ta’Kheta questioned nonchalantly. _‘Do you think it would even be worth it?’_

 _‘Right now?’_ His fists tightened behind his wings. _‘No,’_ he answered honestly, his anger at Dagda’s ignorance melting into the connection.

_‘Then why ever?’_

Cole took a deep breath as he followed the guards obediently. _‘He has done much… in the past. And he is recovering from himself it would seem. Perhaps he is not a lost cause.’_

 _‘If you say so, my prince,’_ came the dubious reply.

Dagda watched through Rex’s narrowed eyes as the prince was led down the hall by his men. He observed the overly fluid gait coupled with the tense posture of the younger man’s back, shoulders and wings. _I can’t believe it._

 _‘What?’_ Rex asked. _‘He’s as stubborn as his father, you know that.’_

 _‘No.’_ Dagda pulled back, Rex’s vision clearing from his mind’s eye. _‘No, this is much worse than I thought,’_ he answered, turning to his desk.

_‘In what way?’_

He rested one hand at his hip while the other covered his mouth. “Are you serious, Rex?” he asked aloud, listening to his captain enter the room and close the door behind him.

“I know I like a good joke, but now isn’t the time for humor,” Rex shot back with uncharacteristic sharpness.

“There’s someone in his _head!_ ” Dagda whipped around leveling a glare. “You were watching, did you not see the signs?”

Rex glanced away, disquiet overtaking his expression as he paused his steps. “You know how serious it is to make an accusation of manipulation,” he said, shaking his head. “How can you be so sure?” he asked, looking back.

Dagda could have pulled his hair out. “Rex! The twitching, the blank gaze, the facial tics, the-the long pauses!” He clawed his hands into the air helplessly. “Even the way he’s walking and holding himself- it’s all symptomatic, and you know it!”

“Those _can be_ symptoms an overextended mind-link, yes, but who would dare do such a thing to the crown prince?” Rex asked, with a shrug. “I mean, certainly not one of the council, right? And if not one of them, then who would have a motive?”

Dagda took a breath and paused, eyeing the floor, his desk, the cabinets across the room, as if an answer would appear miraculously simply by looking for it. “I… I don’t know, but-“

“But this is a stressful time for all of us right now,” Rex cut in, continuing his trek across the room. “I would say Cole has reason to be rather twitchy, wouldn’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t he just answer my question?” he asserted, fisting his hands at his sides. “It was point plank, there was no room or reason for dodging.”

“He did technically answer you,” Rex said, stopping in front of Dagda and crossing his arms. “It’s just the same thing he’s already said.”

“And we know that’s a lie,” he grated through clenched teeth.

Rex’ face contorted. “We don’t know that yet, majesty,” he countered in a softer tone. “You haven’t even sent a scout to try to cross the border-“  
“Because you know just as well as I do that there is no reason my message wouldn’t have gotten through to Onyx,” he said, slicing the air with his hand. “Whether the dagger fly was stopped in transit or someone else received it and could not understand the meaning, you know something is deeply wrong with that,” he insisted.

Rex looked away and heaved a sigh. “You’re right about that, but Cole doesn’t even know we tried that route.” He looked back to his king sternly. “You didn’t tell him.”

“I don’t need to say a word to him about my methods to know that he is, in one way or another, confident that I’ll not find out what’s going on,” Dagda rattled. He turned back to the desk, wings shifting restlessly behind him as he leaned against it, gripping the edges tightly. “You were watching, Rex. Are you really denying what you saw?”

“I know what I saw, but I know we need more to confidently suggest it’s what you think.”

“The evidence is mounting higher and higher by the hour-“

“Are you sure about that?”

“Rex-“

“Dagda!”

He stopped short at the use of his name, looking to his captain with a jolt. He could just barely feel the concern that was so blatantly coloring the other man’s face. Quite suddenly, he was at a loss for words, seeing and feeling the worry from his captain and friend. He took a deep breath, looking away to hang his head. “Rex. I-“

“Might be chasing shadows.”

He closed himself off, not wanting Rex to the feel the incredulity swirling to the surface at his statement. He knew the action itself spoke louder, but he did not need to feel the impact. Or what he could clearly hear and see. “But, what if I’m not?” he managed. He listened, hearing Rex’ armor move against itself as he stepped closer, feeling the hand close over his shoulder. 

“Dagda, when was the last time you ate anything? Drank anything other than the coffee you had this morning with Sunny? And you can’t tell me you’ve been getting any appropriate length of sleep since this whole thing began because we both know that I know better.”

He closed his eyes tightly. “I’m not losing my mind, Rex. If we both know what you know, then you know that much.”

“You’re right. You haven’t lost your mind. On the contrary, I think you’ve been thinking far clearer these last months than you have in a long time, and I’ve said as much,” Rex said, squeezing tighter. “But… but this seems a bit much, don’t you think? It’s like you’re chasing nightmares from the past. I know…” Rex let out a sigh. “I _know_ what you are thinking here. And I know it makes a sort of sense. But does it really?”

Dagda opened his eyes, the grey of the rock floor as bleak as his unspoken concerns. He looked up, knowing that Rex was following his gaze to the piles of paperwork that had overtaken his desk. 

“We have to go with the evidence that we have at this very moment,” Rex asserted. “And all we have right now is an eyewitness account that someone, possibly the Misty Rivers Council, wants the Bog King dead; You cannot contact Onyx, and possibly have been out of contact with Onyx for months; and Cole knows more than he’s saying, and possibly has a counter plan to the council given his conversation with Bog,” Rex summarized. He then raised a brow. “And then there’s that whole relation thing. That I guess we do know for sure- but even if we take that as fact, questionable as it is, that’s a whole lot of ‘possibles’ and not a whole lot of concrete,” he said. He lifted his other hand, gesturing to the papers. “And on top of this already convoluted situation, you’re adding this? How would that even play in?” Rex asked, almost desperately.

Dagda felt his brows drawing down as he clenched his teeth tightly. He did not have a real answer. All he had was his conviction and a smattering of circumstantial evidence that seemed to fit so perfectly. “I’m going through everything I can find because I want to _disprove_ what I think,” he said. “I don’t know how this would play in and I don’t _want_ it to.” 

“Sire, I think you need a break.”

“I can’t afford to-“

“I’m not saying to stop investigating this avenue-“

“Why do you keep interrupting-“

“Because you need someone to look after you and Onyx ain’t here to bully you into it.”

Both of them froze. 

The statement hurt more than intended, both to hear it and having said it. 

Rex took a deep breath, squeezing his hand once again over Dagda’s shoulder. “Please, your majesty. Just walk away from this for a little while. Eat something, anything. Drink some water, or tea- maybe snap tea. Light the damn fireplace because it’s cold in here despite the swelter outside,” he said, a smidge of humor working its way into his voice. “Just take a break. Clear your head. Then come back with a fresh mind.”

Dagda heaved a sigh, closing his eyes once more. He could not deny the caring that motivated Rex’ words, even with their link dulled. Nor could he pretend Rex did not have a point. Suddenly feeling heavy and light at the same time, recognizing the abrupt feeling of unfueled overexertion, he knew he needed to take his captain’s advice. 

“Alright. Light the fire, would you?”

“Sure thing, sire.”

**~*~**

Sunny took a deep breath and blew it out heavily.

“You doing okay back there, bud?” Pare asked, angling his head from his position in the saddle. 

“Yup, all good, my man,” Sunny said, though he could feel the tired in his voice. He then stiffened lightly as long, slender arms wrapped around his middle. 

“It’s been a long day,” Dawn conceded, maneuvering her chin over his hair before resting it to the top of his head.

“Yeah,” he agreed, leaning back into her. “Thanks for helping again, Pare,” he said as he instinctively wrapped his smaller arms over Dawn’s and squeezed.

“No problem,” Pare said, waving a hand over his shoulder. “It’s the least I can do.”

The group continued on in silence atop Lizzy as she strolled along, even the lizard moving slowly as if the day’s travels had taken a toll on her. The sun was low, coloring the sky with lovely pinks and oranges. Sunny observed it quietly, enjoying the view as he and Dawn swayed back and forth in the saddle behind Pare. His thoughts abruptly backtracked to the sweet, loving fairy holding him from behind, her wings the same beautiful colors the sun threw into the sky. _Funny how she’s named for the sunrise, but she’s colored like the sunset,_ he thought. His hands squeezed tighter reflexively as his mind wandered to the concerns they had just spent most of the day warning the people about.

The elf villages, the brownie burrows, and the multitude of fairy families spread about the land all met their words with questions and worry. He had done his best to use careful language, not give away too much of their speculation, their knowledge about the danger to Bog, or give too much of an impression of how clueless they really were. And wherever he lost a footing in his speech, Dawn picked right up behind him. Between her sweetness and his plain, upfront approach they had managed to relay the warning and suggestion for preparedness in a sensible manner. Thankfully, no one had panicked. 

He was sure to have all the exact some questions to answer once they got to his home. But at least he had Dawn with him. Sunny smiled lightly, feeling Dawn lulling lightly with the back-and-forth motion of Lizzy underneath them. “Thanks for helping me out today, Dawn.”

“Of course,” she came back sleepily. “I can be useful too, you know.”

His brows immediately furrowed at that. He took a breath to respond when Pare suddenly chimed in from the front.

“You two need anything in town?”

“Uuuuh,” Sunny blinked, at a loss for words. 

“I don’t think so,” Dawn answered for him. “We packed pretty good.”

“Yeah, what she said,” Sunny added.

Pare chuckled. “Gotcha. Don’t fall asleep back there. I’m not responsible if you two fall off.”

Sunny grinned, both at Pare’s words and Dawn’s giggle behind him. “Yeah, yeah.” 

He readjusted his grip on Dawn’s arms, her words echoing through his head. He took a deep breath. _Of course, you’re useful,_ he thought. He bit the inside of his lip. A tune came to mind and he started humming.

Dawn giggled again. “Sunny, I love you,” she murmured.

He smiled wider, keeping his lips closed to hum the song he always sang to her, and himself, when feeling down. “I love you too,” he whispered back before continuing the sweet melody. 

**~*~**

It was cooler in the forest than in the fields. The colors of the sky so visible in the fields were barely glimpsed through the canopy of the trees and the cover of the leaves over the horizon. The trees, however, painted their own pictures. From brilliant greens, to faded browns, smooth surfaced leaves and textured trunks, greys, greens and browns of the moss and lichen sprouting in places just so, like flowers in the field. The cover of the ferns and foliage of the ground, the brush and thorns that partnered it so naturally.

Roland took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he leaned against the rail of one of the third-floor flight balconies. How had he not seen it? The innate, simple, beauty of this place. 

_Because beauty was polished metal, expensive clothes, perfectly coifed hair and flawless skin,_ he answered himself, feeling a glare mar his features. Without thinking, a hand raised to his face, fingers brushing against patchy stubble of a length that had never before graced his face. He heaved a sigh, letting his head hang, running his hand into his hair – longer than he’d ever had it, and certainly not as clean considering his previous living arrangement. 

_Why am I here?_ He stared at the gnarled wood of the rail, tracing the lines of the somewhat shaved down bark. _I’ve done what I meant to do. They don’t want me here, now that it’s done. Should I just… leave?_ Emerald orbs flashed behind his open eyes and he jolted, gripping the rail tight. The phantom sensation of Dagda’s presence in his mind floated through him and he shivered. _Dammit,_ Roland clenched his eyes tight. _Why… why are you… so… why would you give me-_

“Oi, goldy.”

Roland could not have stopped his jump into the air even had he been chained to the floor. He turned, bashing his wings into the railing and nearly falling forward onto the floor. Only to have two long, silver chitin plated arms catch him by the shoulders.

“Ay, no need ta lose ye’re shit.”

Roland looked up with a start, Chae’s pale, silvery-skinned face dominating his vision but her almond eyes, bright brown with green rings along the outer edges, stealing his attention. “Uh… right. Right,” he said, biting his lip and jolting backward, bashing his wings against the rail once more. “Damn!” he hissed, averting his eyes. He flicked his wings lightly, trying to shake away the ache. 

“Ye a’rite there?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I-I just was surprised, that’s all,” Roland sputtered, still keeping his face angled to the floor. “I would have thought, you know, maybe, the guards would have said something.” His voice trickled into a mumble as he spontaneously remembered his previous thoughts. _Couldn't have gone anywhere anyway, I suppose._

"Ah, right. Quiet lot," she said distractedly. 

He looked up to see her closing the distance to the rail, leaning against it as he had to look out at the view. He swallowed his nerves, unsure what really he was so nervous about, turning back around to look out once more himself.

"You smoke?"

Roland looked to her with a start, biting back aggravation at his own jumpiness. "Wh- no, no. I mean, I don't mind it, but I don't," he answered looking away quickly to hide his sour expression. _Get ahold of yourself!_

"Well, tha's good."

"Why's that?" he managed with a straight voice.

"I'as gonna anyway."

He whipped his head around to see she had already pulled her dulled, dark leather wrap around bag to the front of her, working at the tie. "Ah. Right. Gotcha." _Well, that sounded intelligent,_ he harped at himself. He then forgot his self-annoyance as he watched her pull out a pipe, slightly too large for her hand, made of warm brown wood and carved with what he recognized to be Dark Forest script but of a dialect he could not read. She proceeded to pull out a tamper, looking homemade, possibly by taking a metal nail and heating the pointed end so it could be beaten into a scoop. He watched her scrape the bowl casually, doing so with the ease of having performed the same task many times before. She then fished out the tobacco pouch, soft swede leather, but clearly treated to keep moisture out. Before he had realized it, he had leaned further against the rail, resting an elbow to the surface and resting his jaw in his hand, observing with rapt attention how naturally the actions seemed to come to her. Part of him wanted to ask how she managed with her clawed fingers, watching as she pinched out the tobacco shreds with no difficulty and placed them into the bowl, using the tamper to pack them in tight. She repeated the filling twice more, packing the second and third pinches looser each time. She then put the tobacco pouch and tamper away with one hand and drew the same hand back with two matches between her fingers.

"Ye ne'er seen any'n do this before?" she asked without looking at him, putting the mouth if the pipe to her lips as she struck the first match to the wrist scale of the hand holding it. 

Roland could not keep from staring as the small flame illuminated her face in the dark that had rapidly descended upon them without his notice. "I, uh... it's been a while since I've seen." Watched was more like it, though he did not want to come across as creepy. He had seen others clean and pack their pipes before, however the Larkspur boy was never to be seen smoking or around others who did. So, he had only ever observed so closely once in his memory. _Well, now I really do feel creepy,_ he thought dejectedly, looking away.

"I can teach ye, if ye want."

His eyes shot back to her, watching as she sucked air in through her lips tightly closed around the pipe mouth, the leaves in the bowl flaring a brilliant red. She did so several times, more and more of the leaves glowing red as she sucked the flame of the match into the bowl. 

He could not help but notice how the red lit up her face, her eyes seeming to glow with the vibrance of the embers. He swallowed those nerves that refused to stay away, averting his gaze. “Maybe someday,” he mumbled, making a point to look out to the darkened forest. 

“Hmm.”

He bit the inside of his lip at the tone of her little noise. It held in it all the weight of things unsaid. 

She had questions.

He could imagine any number of things they could pertain to, but he was sure they had nothing to do with his strange comments about smoking. He briefly examined his behavior and words over the last few minutes and mentally kicked himself. _I’m such an idiot-_

“So, why d’people like ta hit ye?”

Roland froze. His thoughts raced, trying to come up with some sort of excuse, backtrack with a funny comment about being too close to someone with sharp instincts, ask why she would think it was anything more than an accident. But he knew he was given already, with his stillness and silence that was stretching seconds too long. He finally gave up, the wheels falling off his mental wagon as he forced air into his lungs and hung his head. _What does it matter?_ “I did something bad. To both of them.” He was not sure she knew Marianne had hit him, but considering her mention of _people_ , not Bog particularly, he was sure Chae had already made some sort of assumption. He listened to her shift her weight, her forearm scales scraping against the rail as she leaned on it. He took another deep breath, the smooth, yest musky scent of the tobacco smoke filling his nose. He waited, eyes glued to the dark navy, indigo, purple and black patchwork of the forest. 

“If ye did sumth’n bad, why’re ye ‘ere?”

He huffed. _Why am I having this conversation?_ he asked himself. He did not walk away, however. He did not roll his eyes, he did not groan. Roland instead found himself mimicking her posture, clasping his hands in front of him as he rested his weight onto his arms. “I… wanted to try to make it better. Make up for it. Kinda.” Even his former gumption for berating himself for such poor speech had dissipated. Instead, his inner self had gone strangely quiet, as if waiting with bated breath for the next question.

He did not have to wait long.

“Ye don’ seem too ‘appy with yerself, do’n this ‘mak’n up fer it’ stuff.”

It was not a question. But there was question in the statement. He chewed on his lip. His now quiet mind providing no help with how to respond. “Should I be?” he asked suddenly. “I mean,” he looked at his fingers, clenching them tightly, “yeah, I… I did this because I wanted to… do some good, what little I could, for what I did. But It doesn’t change anything.” He felt his face mar. “I still did what I did. I still have the mark to prove it. I can’t take that back and we can’t pretend it didn’t happen. I can’t… I can’t make it like it never happened. It’ll always be there,” he finished in a whisper.

“Yeh. Sure will.”

He blinked. The nonchalant answer caught him off guard. He looked up tentatively, spying Chae looking out at the scenery, dragging slowly on the pipe, the red glow illuminating her face in the dark. 

“Cannae change wha’appened. Can only move on from it,” she said, smoke billowing from her mouth and nose as she spoke. Then, those light brown eyes ringed in green were on him, his own trapped in her gaze. “Ye dwell on it, ye die. An’ maybe I’m wrong,” she looked back to the forest, “but ye don’seem the die’n type.”

Silence reigned. 

He stared at her for a moment before looking back, now blind to the view as her words sunk in. His eyes saw instead that night, the memory still raw in his mind. How he had cried, shook and stared at the blade against his skin, watching the small red drop forming at the end. How he had remained frozen, unmoving save for the shivering sobs that had riddled his form. 

Even before he had heard the whispered words to the side, he had been unable to plunge the blade any deeper. 

“Ye’re naw a coward.”

He remained still. As still as that night. But this time, the air was warm, and instead of damp mist, a pleasant smoke filled the air. 

He jolted lightly as a sharp thud reverberated next to his arm. He looked to see her right forearm, now with the inner fair flesh of her skin turned up, laying against the rail next to his own. There were several small, nearly white marks on the surface, about a handbreadth up from her wrist. Somehow, without looking or thinking, he knew.

Those were marks from her own claws.

“Ne’er really tried. But I thaw’ abou’it,” she said, that nonchalance still coloring her voice. “I’m still ‘ere, tho’.” She withdrew her arm and retook her position. “An’ so’er you.”

Roland looked up to the woman next to him, just barely a year older than him. She exuded a calmness at that moment as she simply examined the scenery in front of them, puffing on her pipe. Her silver chitin and hair seemed to gleam in the dark, the red of the pipe’s embers continually flaring across her front.

She shifted her eyes to him once again and smirked. “An’ since we’re still ‘ere, we got lots teh do, eh, goldy?” 

His back went stiff as his blooming awe fizzled in the wake of instant indignation. “Why are you calling me goldy!?” he shot without thinking.

Chae grinned. “Ye’re fringe, o’course!” she chided, her hand already in his hair and ruffling the aforementioned locks before he could stop her.

“Pfft- yeah?” He ducked out from under her clawed grip and flared his wings. “Well, what if I call you- you- silver..eey…” He cringed as he faltered.

“HA! Ye’re gonna ‘ave teh do be’er than that!” She shifted, sharp-toothed grin still plastered to her face as she leaned backward against the rail, crossing one leg over the other. 

A smile broke out on his face unbidden and he waved his finger at her. “Oh, you gimme a minute, I’ll figure something out!” 

She let out another laugh, grin disappearing for only a moment as she took another long drag of her pipe. “Oh, we ‘ave all th’time in th’world, goldy,” she said, smoke following the words out of her mouth.

Roland let out a laugh as well, his smile turning into a timid grin. 

“Yeah… yeah, I guess we do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the read. Have a good day or night and a wonderful time~*


End file.
